Canaveral
by PADavis
Summary: Winner, Round 16 of the SNFA Awards. Just why does Dean hate Florida so much? Cocoa Beach, fuglies, allergies, and car accidents – Dean simply can’t catch a break. Pre-Season and early Season One. Hurt!Dean. Rated T for Language.
1. Poking a Bear with a Stick

Canaveral

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between Dean pre-season and Sam early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

A/N 2: I mentioned that Dean hated Florida in my first fic, Mesmerize. You do not have to read that to understand this story, although if you haven't read it, I hope you will.

A/N 3: My beta Merisha has informed me, and many of you, that this story is HERS. She's adopted it and made up a little bed next to hers for it to sleep in. I would not dare argue with that kind of devotion, I only hope this final product lives up to her expectations. I hope you'll review and let me know.

ooooo January 2004 ooooo

Dean and his father had just finished clearing out an infestation of chupacabra near Kissimmee when Dean heard about a Black Dog on Dog Island. It was so freaking perfect he couldn't get over it. And God, he couldn't get enough of that name – Kissimmee – either. It was like an engraved invitation to annoy Sam. He'd left him a message about it and being in Florida for Christmas, thankful they were both finally somewhere warm that month. The little shit probably wouldn't call him back for weeks, but that had never stopped him from leaving messages before.

Turned out chupacabra were nasty, ugly, and filthy. And fucking insane when you hunted them – all teeth, and claws, and sharp bits, any one of which would slice you into ribbons if you let it. The tube with teeth they used to suck blood was so gross it reminded him of the remake of _The Fly_ when Jeff Goldblum puked on his food and drank it. He'd tell Sam that but he more than likely wouldn't remember the movie, just like he managed not to remember most of the movies and old TV shows they'd watched. Except for _Thundercats_ – _that_ he remembered. Hell, he'd probably decided not to remember his childhood at all now that he was at Stanford, telling his friends he had simply dropped to earth fully formed when he was 18 and 6'9" or whatever tall he would end up being.

He and Dad had killed about twenty of the suckers with wrought iron and holy water, and bled a lot before they were done. It didn't seem possible but chupacabras smelled ten times worse burning than they smelled alive and he'd been absolutely positive that living they were the worst smelling things he'd ever hunted. Dad would be able to tell Dean exactly how many. He'd probably ticked them off on some 'I killed this many evil creatures this year' list he'd hidden in a pocket while Dean was patching them both up. Then he'd carefully transfer it into his journal in his code - XXII ch'p 1/04 K,FL.

Dad didn't know Dean had called Sam once they got to Florida. OK, he probably did. Well, actually, Dad could probably tell him the date and hour of every one of his calls to Sam since he left two and a half years ago. Dean never could hide anything from Dad, even teensy stuff, yet here's Sam, the open, hostile, yelling one, hiding a freaking scholarship. Even though he didn't really have to hide calling Sam from Dad, because it wasn't like Dad was going to ground him or anything - he was twenty four - but talking about Sam was Number One on the hit parade of Things He Did Not Want To Do Around Dad. It was like poking a bear with a stick, if you liked that kind of thing, and the bear always eviscerated you. Every single time in those first couple of months after Sam left when he forgot and said Sam's name out loud, it was like sinking in quicksand, and he would end up spread eagled on the surface desperately trying not to sink any further under the weight of Dad's self recrimination and fear stacked up on top of his own.

Not that Dad would admit he shared Dean's anxiety, he wouldn't even admit to Dean that he'd done anything wrong when he pointed Sam at the door and told him not to come back, but Dean knew. If he could have found a way to rewrite the past, Dad might even consider scripting those words into Dean's mouth just because they tasted so bad in his own. The only good part was that the bear didn't ask, and Dean wouldn't tell, so they managed to scrape by most of the time this last year without removing too much skin. They'd both been by Stanford every time they were in Cali, just trying to find out if Sam looked OK, and renewing the wards and protective charms in his dorm and later his apartment building. The last time he saw him must have been October - Dean wasn't sure but if anything the freak looked taller, wrists sticking out below his cuffs, which was just icing on the 'let's make Dean feel short' Winchester cake.

He'd seen Sam three times during his freshman year, only twice in his sophomore, the last time rocketing to Palo Alto after a hunt in Idaho to make sure he saw him just for a few minutes before he left campus for a break. Sam would be working all summer near school but was going to stay a few weeks with some friends in some swishy place south of LA first and Dean was just too beat up and sore to follow him down once he'd left Stanford. And of course he was way late re-joining Dad that time for their next hunt in Iowa, or Illinois, in fact it was just weird it was another one of those 'I' states so soon after Idaho. He might as well have stabbed the bear, poured salt on the wound, and _then_ poked it. And man, had he paid the price, over and over, with more and more solo jobs, extra drills and training, and all the grunt work on their hunts 'cause 'late' was marine talk for lazy and poor planning. That and Dad must have known where he'd been. Sometimes he thought he'd rather have been eviscerated.

Sam wasn't in a dorm after his freshman year which meant two days each time to find the apartment he was renting first with some friends and then with a girl named Jessica. They were both nice places – better than a lot of the ones they'd ever stayed in growing up. Since October though Dad had moved them east and they'd been hugging the central and eastern states since then, crisscrossing the Mississippi and the Appalachians. He wasn't sure if Dad was deliberately moving them east to move both of them further from Sam or just him, and there was no way in hell he was going to ask to find out.

Christmas in Florida was no different than any other day with Dad, just fewer restaurants open, but at least it was warm. He loved Pastor Jim but Christmas in Minnesota meant blizzards and chores - chopping wood, clearing the cars, shoveling the driveway, or cleaning all of Jim's weapons with theirs. On one monumentally bad visit, he also got to polish the pews in the church because he suggested, well, OK mouthed off, that he was the only one in the whole family doing any work. It was true, damn it, but you would think he'd learned by then how much it never paid off to question Dad's decisions on delegating work when dissatisfaction became insubordination in Jim's company.

Dad didn't get drunk often, but when he did, once in a rare while with Jim, but most often alone, he'd send Dean out to dig fox holes in rock hard ground with a spoon or tow the Impala a mile with his teeth or some crazy ass thing like that. And hell if he complained, Dad would put the Impala in Park first. And there was Sam with his nose in a book in the warm house or later in the middle of screaming bitch-fests with Dad, still in the warm house, still with a book tucked under his arm, or down his shorts, or up his ass for all Dean knew, their voices reaching him despite humming and distance and earmuffs as he tried to keep his fingers and toes from turning black and falling off.

It was more of the same at Bobby's but Dad drank more with Bobby so he was grateful for Minnesota most of the time. His car hated snow, and he'd gone off the road more than once bringing supplies back to the house. The last couple of years Sam wouldn't even go with him and he'd used to love it, whooping and throwing his arms in the air as the car spun like a Teacup Ride at the state fair. So he stopped taking his girl, and instead borrowed his Dad's four wheel drive truck with the sensible chains on the sensible snow tires and made the trip alone only to return and be trapped inside with his geeky little brother, who had homework. Who the hell does homework during Christmas break? And when he wasn't doing school work, he was bitching about Dad and hunting and wanting to become a vegan or some girly shit only after he'd eaten bacon for breakfast, and Dean had just gotten back to the house through four goddamned feet of snow loaded down with milk, coffee, meat, bread, potatoes, beer, Lucky Charms, and canned fruit salad. He was amazed that Sam still liked that fruit stuff since Dean didn't let him eat anything but that and dry cereal for two days straight after that little incident.

He always had too much damn time to think when it was just him and Dad. What was it with all the pining for Christmases past? And it always led to thinking about Sam, and worrying about him, and god, he missed Sam so much it hurt, even though he really was a little pansy assed wanna-be vegan fucker sometimes. He needed a hunt. He wanted that Black Dog.

OOOOO

Dad decided, in the cheery glow of burning chupacabra bodies, to check out the reports of a haunting on Anastasia Island. The lighthouse had a history of sightings but no deaths or mayhem ever reported so if it was inhabited all it did was drive the tourist trade. Dean wasn't sure about spending the time because most everything else they'd checked out before the chupa's were wastes of time – the Mermaid was made of the same plasticine stuff the FX guys used, but they had known that before they ever made plans to look at it, and the love bug thing? Well, that was just stupid. So far, he concluded that a lot of Florida was made out of plasticine and film stock. A story about cows sucked dry of blood only a few miles from Orlando was just a frame or two to cut out of the fantasy documentary that was the non-stop movie of Mr. Disney's Florida.

Dean wanted to check out the Black Dog and it meant guns and silver bullets and tracking and sneaking up on things but Dad wouldn't go for it. He must have jotted down 'enough black dogs', or more likely "no mr blkdg" in his journal somewhere. Dean liked black dogs – they were vicious and unpredictable, and you saved a lot of people each time you killed one. And they went down easy if you got them just right. So when Dean had expressed a marked lack of interest in lighthouses, Dad called Caleb to do the seashore tour, and they'd agreed to hook up in about a week before heading north just in time for colder weather. Maybe Dad would get drunk and order him to carve a full size Taj Mahal out of ice or some such shit on his birthday 'just to get you over your issue with chainsaws, son'. And here he was thinking there was nothing to look forward to in the Land 'o' Winchester Post Sam.

He didn't make it to Dog Island, the black dog report was more than likely a bust anyway, but he did make it to Ocala and the Devil's Pit Sinkhole and Cave. He was just passing through, minding his own business, idly checking the local paper over a patty melt and onion rings, and there it was. Tourists going missing while visiting the local cave systems and their mutilated corpses found days later. The police were thinking wild dogs or alligators. Dean knew he'd found a job but caves? He hadn't even known they had caves in Florida. The only good thing he could think of about caves was how easy it was to avoid going into one. You stood outside in the daylight and looked inside and said, 'Sure enough, a cave' and you backed the fuck away waving anyone who wanted to right in front of you and right into the dark where there might be giant blind albino cave rats.

Who knew - here's Florida, up to its ass in caves and he wished they'd all fill up with the ocean that very minute so he wouldn't have to go into one. Instead he called Dad to update him and see how he and Caleb felt about caves and darkness and enclosed spaces that were like, dark, and really enclosed, and maybe full of tourist eating rats, but neither would take the bait. Dad did plenty of hunts on his own when Dean and Sam were small, son, and he'd probably walked barefoot to school in the snow and uphill both ways while chanting Latin exorcisms. He wouldn't say if they'd actually found something on the island so Dean was guessing the lighthouse had crapped out too. They'd be on to spooky college campuses next if they weren't careful. When Dean found out they'd checked into a motel in Cocoa Beach, he hoped that Caleb would drag John to the Space Center the next day. Dad didn't do beaches but he'd love that. Maybe they'd spelunk with him later, ha ha ha. Right - he got the picture and he got a motel room. He'd bet anything that Sam would have really liked the Space Center too if they'd ever got to do stuff like that when they were kids. Damn it, he was going to have stop thinking about him.

Then he found out a lot of the caves had water in them – not the ocean, but spring water. He did not want to think about diving in a cave. Fuck. The walls of the motel room shrank around him. Fuck. When he stopped hyperventilating, and the motel room looked normal again, he retreated to his car. He'd never been so glad the Impala was absolutely almost always above ground, and he and Dad never talked about the one time it wasn't. He drove to a bar, drank beer, and played pool, the ladies, and 70's rock on the jukebox until three in the morning, and never once deliberately thought about caves, underground rivers, or small spaces. He had to suck it up, be a man, Dean, rub dirt on it, anything but think about it. Fuck again.

It was a good plan, and if it'd worked it would have been even better. But it didn't, and when he got back to the motel, he paced for hours, only getting into bed and falling asleep after dawn.


	2. And it’s in Florida, Sam

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story however belongs to Merisha. Cheers!

A/N 2: My belated thanks to K. Hanna Korossy who most kindly allowed me to borrow her 'Claustrophobic Dean'.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

They were in the car, drifting south through Alabama, when Dean got a call about a possible Black Dog sighting in Valdosta, Georgia. He had what Sam thought to be an unhealthy enthusiasm for hunting Black Dogs, talking nonstop about using his special high powered rifle, silver bullets, and shots to the heart. Sam wasn't fond of them, but he had to admit they were pretty much straight forward things to kill as long as you didn't miss. Their Dad had practically ripped them both new ones the last time they'd gone out together and he, of course he, never Dean, had missed and they'd both gotten a little sliced up before Dean killed it and they roasted the corpse. But what he couldn't get was why they were after a Black Dog in the first place – unless Dad had the damn thing on a leash, they weren't getting any closer to finding him.

Dad wasn't walking it, but they found it and roasted this one too, and almost set fire to the nearby woods when Dean got as enthusiastic with the lighter fluid as he did hunting the dog, and it was when they were heading back to the motel he thought to check email and found an invitation from Jeremy to visit him in Ormond Beach for Christmas. They hadn't heard from Dad, and had no clue where he was, and Jeremy's invitation made it all too easy to believe that there was as much chance of Dad being in Florida as anywhere else. It would be warm, and mindless, and near a beach just for a day or two - perfect for his first Christmas with Dean in four years, and his first without Jess in two. And a beach on the east coast was as close as he wanted to get to California and those memories right now.

He started looking for hunts in that direction while Dean was washing off the smoke and kerosene. Their motel was golf themed this time, the table lamps looking like miniature golf bags, the rug looked like artificial turf, and he was afraid it might smell like grass if he was willing to get down and sniff. Every single switch, knob, and protrusion in the room was made out of golf balls, and of course, their room keys were on golf ball key chains. How Dean found these places was beyond him – he never seemed to research them, the car just seemed to nose them out. He and Dean had been in the Par 4 room for three days, and he would be heartily glad to leave it and the golf club curtain rods far behind when they left the next day.

They moved across the street to a bar after dinner where he sat nursing a beer while Dean played pool. He'd planned to continue researching, but couldn't keep focused enough to get work done because he kept trying to keep an eye on Dean. He had to do it surreptitiously because the whole point was not to bring too much of the wrong kind of attention to the game. Dean did this effortlessly, and hadn't asked him to be point again, and he had after all been doing this alone for four years, but Sam couldn't not watch his brother's back. He wasn't at all sure if he liked feeling nostalgic over participating in a con, and it was quiet, so he returned his attention to the laptop and not only had a second beer but thought he had a few potential hunts in Florida by the time Dean returned to the table, looking a little too casual to Sam. He knew what that meant – Dean had cash and it was time to go. They left before the marks did more than bleat at each other about losing their pay checks, and made it back to their room around the back of the motel without being followed.

Dean pulled a couple of beers from the mini-fridge, tossed one to Sam, and then tossed himself onto his bed, toeing off his boots and turning on the TV. "Anything you want to watch?" He twisted off the cap and took a long pull.

Checking his watch, Sam asked, "Can we get the Daily Show?"

He flipped through their total of eight channels. "I think we'd be lucky to get anything other than the Golf Channel." Picking one channel and eyeing it speculatively through the static and snow, he continued, "This might be the Weather Channel but I don't think that's a map of the US." He tried turning up the volume, and cocked his head to one side. "It might be South America. Is Argentina the long skinny one? Or is that Chile?" Shrugging his shoulders, he turned off the TV.

Sam opened his own beer and asked, "Dean, do you have any plans for Christmas?"

That was unexpected. "Plans? I hadn't thought about going anywhere special, if that's what you mean, just find some pie and watch a game. And not that weird mincemeat stuff either. Why – you got something in mind?" He had a sudden thought. "You think Dad might go to see Pastor Jim? If we go you get to do all the chores, Samantha, including the shopping. I'll be on the couch hanging with Pastor Jim."

"No, not Minnesota. My friend Jeremy invited us to come to Ormond Beach for the holiday. That's only a few hours from here."

"Jeremy? Is that the same kid whose family had the house near San Diego – his name was Brannigan or Flannigan right?"

"It's Corrigan. How did you know that?"

Dean felt a little sheepish. "I met him at Jess' funeral." He cut his eyes over to Sam, but Sam only gazed back, frowning slightly at the mention of the funeral. "You said Ormond Beach? That's in Florida isn't it?"

"Yeah. I think there's a hunt on Anastasia Island..."

"Please tell me you aren't talking about the lighthouse?"

"Well, yeah, the lighthouse...

"... was a bust. Dad and Caleb checked it out. Nothing, nada, zip. And it's in Florida, Sam. Florida. I hate Florida."

"There's chupacabra ..."

"Were chupacabra, you mean, near Kissimmee. Dad and I cleared them out two years ago. I called you, remember?"

"There has to be something in Florida that you three left for all the other hunters."

"Nope. Scraped it clean. We decided not to share. But even if there was something there now, we aren't going."

"Dean, what is it about Florida? It's going to be in the low 80's and sunny for the next few days." Dean raised his eyebrows and pointed his chin at the television. Sam waved toward the laptop looking a little pained. "I had to use a dial up connection but I checked the forecast. And it would just be for a day or two."

Dean just stared at him. "You really don't remember? It was only two years ago – I called you a Skunk Ape. You _have_ to remember that."

"Um, well, what I remember of your Florida trip was that you spent the whole time wasted. Come on, you did, didn't you? You can't remember that much yourself and you're asking me to?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and took a good long look at his brother. Sam looked back at him, slightly puzzled. He really _didn't_ remember. He wasn't sure why this surprised him. Sam hadn't just burned the bridges between himself and his family when he left for college, he must have fuckin' well nuked them. Here he was so relieved to have Sam with him, so bonelessly, weightlessly relieved to have his kid brother where he could just see him again, yet after two months the kid still couldn't see anything beyond the tip of his own tanned nose that wasn't 'find Dad' and 'killl the thing that killed Jess'. He'd saved the giraffe from fire twice now but he had the feeling sometimes that if he didn't have a car, Sam would have already skipped out on him looking for Dad. And he apparently had Dean pegged as some kind of perpetual alcoholic. He took a deep breath and turned away.

Sam watched Dean's drop all expression from his face and shut down, his green eyes shuttered, closing him out. "Just tell me, Dean, don't make me guess." Dean stood, turned an artificial smile at his brother, and moved toward the bathroom. The only reaction Sam got was the tossed off "Whatever" delivered over his shoulder as he closed the bathroom door.

Later when they were both in bed, Sam lay on his back, living in his new world of insomnia. What the hell was it about Florida? Dean turned restlessly on the bed, obviously awake, but had cut Sam off from further communication earlier, returning from the bathroom to get into bed without a word. After an hour and a half, Dean got up and went to the john, and when he came back, started to settle and relax, sighing a little as he rolled over. Being in the same motel room with Dean was kind of like pulling up a favorite blanket, familiar and comfortable. Funny how much came back in only two months – well, two months of no sleep - he could almost predict the exact minute when Dean would next roll over.

He'd been able to do that with Jess too, he remembered with a small smile, she was out like a light as soon as she wanted to sleep. He would give his left arm to have that ability right now. But remembering her made his breath hitch, and tears slipped down his face and into his ears. Dean muttered something but didn't wake, and was soon sound asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, fingers touching the artificial turf, the other he knew under the pillow holding his knife. He accepted the inevitable, got out of bed, and fired up the laptop.

Sam spent most of the night combing through his father's journal for information on hunts in Florida and running cross checks on line. He found a couple of references to hunts almost two years before – XXII ch'p 1/04 K,FL must be the chupacabra and an equally obscure reference to a hunt for a 'u-pan' with C who could only be Caleb a bit later. Nothing about skunk apes other than a notation that they were a kind of sasquatch. He had bookmarked a couple of pages before he started to yawn, and crawled into bed, managing to sleep a couple of hours without nightmares, or at least not ones he remembered.

He showered before Dean got up and walked to a Krispy Kreme and bought a half dozen glazed and two large coffees to tide them, well Dean at least, over until breakfast. As he walked back he left a voice mail for Caleb with his usual question about Dad's whereabouts, but this time mentioned he was in Florida and wanted to get a little information about the time he'd spent with Dad there. Maybe that way he could find out what the hell a 'u-pan' was. He could hear Dean in the shower and knocked to let him know he'd gotten back in. He'd learned pretty quickly that Dean heard just fine through the noise of the water, and if he didn't announce himself Dean just might rocket out the door looking for an intruder. Since he didn't always take the time to grab a towel, they both ended up red faced but at least laughing the first time.

He thought Dean and Dad had stuck together while he was at Stanford, but he was beginning to wonder if maybe Dean spent more time alone than he was knew. He was more on edge, almost hyper alert sometimes. He didn't remember Dean sleeping with a weapon before and he never had to announce himself when Dean was in the shower, but before it had been him and Dean and Dad, and someone had his back. Maybe this wasn't the first time Dad had up and left his brother. And how many solo hunts did he take on in the last four years? All he really knew was that Dean was different, wouldn't talk about hunts during the years they were apart, and he just didn't know what was going on in his brother's head.

And he used to know Dean better than anyone, better than he'd had the time to learn Jess in their years together. Being around Dean now and not having that understanding was like having an itch he couldn't scratch. Every time over the last two months that something inexplicable happened, like Dean shutting him out, or being angry when he wasn't expecting it, made him feel like they were shouting to each other over a chasm four years wide.

When Dean emerged, and finished dressing, Sam said, "I was looking checking Dad's journal on the Florida jobs. Do you know what he meant when he wrote 'u-pan' in here?"

Sam watched him rub his left shoulder before snagging a couple of glazed, and drank half his coffee. "It's ancient history, Sam. He and Caleb hunted a couple of things. Must be one of those."

"Where were you?" Dean looked away. "Something wrong with your shoulder?"

He looked back. "What?"

"You're rubbing your shoulder. Did you hurt it last night?"

Dean peered down at his hand in some surprise. "No, shoulder's fine. Just an itch." He rolled his head and shoulders and stretched before finishing his coffee. He walked to the dresser to collect his wallet, phone, and car keys. "You coming?"

If Dean thought he'd believe that was an itch, he had another think coming, but he got up and joined his brother in the Impala. Sam wanted to ask again about Florida but found himself putting it off in the car. It wasn't as if he were nervous or anything. He just wanted to pick the right time.


	3. Take a gun, kill them, done

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story however belongs to Merisha. Cheers!

ooooo January 2004 ooooo

The corpses weren't just mutilated, they were partially consumed. There were plenty of things that would eat people, but after Dean visited the Ocala morgue, and interviewed the witnesses, he was able to rule out almost everything he'd hunted before. Black dogs don't appear around caves – he knew he loved them for a reason - wendigos didn't give the bodies back, ghouls and revenants didn't have feet larger than Sam's, and once he saw a couple of blurry photos, he knew exactly what he had. Seven foot, furry, Florida sasquatches - Skunk Apes. He wasn't sure how many he would have to deal with, but since few were ever sighted outside of the Everglades, he was betting no more than two - either a single male or a male and female traveling the underground aquifer system to Ocala and points north.

From the reports, he thought that they might turn out to be ordinary enough animals. Take a gun, kill them, done. But the more research he did, the more he was convinced that there was something otherworldly going on. Skunk Apes smelled like _sulfur_. It wasn't a sure sign of a demonic presence, maybe poor grooming, but Dean was suspicious by nature, he'd had to be. They also seemed to travel underwater and that just couldn't be normal. And that whole 'they are simply shy, gentle, misunderstood creatures' who nibble on mangrove roots and hibiscus blossoms turned out to be a load of BS. These things ate meat and being where they were, it was a 99 certainty that once they moved beyond dogs and pigs, and maybe alligators, whatever meat they grabbed next would be tourists. But the nail in the supernatural coffin as far as Dean was concerned was the fact that Skunk Apes loved caves, which meant right there they had to be fuglies because only unholy sons of bitches would hide in them so hunters had to go into caves to kill them.

Other than the exquisite pleasure of calling Sammy Skunk Ape and maybe even better, Stink Ape for the rest of his life, he simply hadn't found anything yet he could take home from his trip to the sunshine state other than 'things that live here smell bad'. Next time, he'd make the chupacabras go into the cave and have the sasquatch eat _them_.

Since Dad and Caleb had already nixed the expedition, he left a message for Bobby while he scouted out the history of the local cave systems and scored a couple of maps. He didn't want to run into the scene of a mass burial, or vengeful spirits, when all he really wanted to do was get in, grab the tourists, and get out. When Bobby called back, after calling him a moron for going by himself, he admitted he had some research on ways to kill them. Decapitation was always good with corporeal creatures, but unless he snuck up on them when they were sleeping… shooting them with something to slow them down, then finishing them, then burning them should do it. Bobby thought that he couldn't go wrong with a combination of cedar, phosphorous, and holy water. Dean didn't have cedar slugs, but he could get tracer rounds and flare guns.

"Why cedar? I can't make a bullet out of wood. I mean I could, I could whittle it or something, but it would never fire."

"Do you only think about firearms … never mind, stupid question. You'll need to improvise, and when I think of what you've come up with before, I'm sure you'll think of something. Not only do cedars have a long history of interactions with the supernatural, they smell good. Come to think of it, I bet juniper or sandalwood would probably work as well. Something's gotta counteract the smell."

"Cedar stakes I can find." He thought a minute. "Holy water? These things live in the water. Why would I want to sprinkle more on them?"

"You idiot, this isn't a one to one relationship. You want to throw sponges at it or something? Maybe you could use a holy hairdryer? And you're still a damned fool moron for going in there by yourself."

"It'll be a piece of cake, Bobby. Dad said these things were the shy retiring type."

"Well then you're both idjits. If the thing kills you, don't come to me to complain about it."

"I can pretty much promise I won't, Bobby." He regretfully hung up. He loved talking to Bobby even when he was yelling at him. Where Dad would share information on a 'need to know' basis, Bobby was a 'here's everything I can think of that might keep you alive' kind of guy.

OOOOO

The Devil's Pit sinkhole entrance to the caves proved to be as close as he could get to the geographical center of the tourist disappearances and gruesome reappearances in the last week and a half. The land surrounding the entrance had been purchased and closed off, but after a picked lock and pushing through some tough brush and bramble, he was able to secure a rope ladder and climb down the 15 foot drop into the sink hole. It used to be popular with cave enthusiasts, stupid sons of bitches that they were, but stupid or not, they made maps. And it was a dry cave system. There was water, but he wasn't going to have to swim in any.

And damn it, they did stink. They really did smell like sulfur, the miasma of rotten eggs making his eyes water, his nose run, and his mouth burn. And the fur was everywhere, stuck to every tiny rough spot on the cave entrance, in drifts underfoot, hanging in the air – it was like trying to breathe cotton, and the smell and the fur were starting to force their way into every pore of his skin and every fiber of his clothes. How could they lose this much fur and not be bald? That right there was proof enough they were supernatural. He was pretty damn sure that he was going to have to burn his clothes right along with the corpses of the Skunk Apes.

And crap if he wasn't just standing here looking _into_ the cave like Sam on prom night, nervously walking back and forth at the girl's door wondering if he should actually knock. He hadn't even taken a step inside. That's probably because he hadn't actually finished working through the desire to cut his own throat with a dull knife rather than go in. If Sam or Dad were with him – he knew he could do it then, but here by himself, with no one around? Maybe cave rats weren't so bad. Hell, he'd probably even eaten rat at some point considering how desperate he was sometimes to feed himself and Sam. Not like Dad ate any better all the time when they were little, but he could at least get more cash, while all Dean could do was check payphones for coins, turn in deposit bottles, and try to find a way to sell Sam's hair for money.

The sand under his feet was almost pure white and it made him sorry for the eighteenth time in an hour that he wasn't at the beach. Any beach, any fuckin' where, as long as it wasn't in front of a cave. Taking a deep breath, he turned around again to check his entrance and what he hoped would soon be his exit point. The bottom of the sink hole was ringed by drifts of bones, cattle judging by the horns, vines and fur. He left a pack with blankets, a flashlight, power bars and bottled water right next to the rope ladder – either for him on the way out or if he was successful, for himself and the Wisconsin mother and son who went missing yesterday.

He ran his checklist one last time, feeling almost relieved Dad wasn't there ribbing him unmercifully while he felt his pockets and opened his duffle to actually touch each object he'd snagged out of the trunk. He had the map – check, a flashlight, a spare flashlight, and a spare spare flashlight – check, batteries, first aid kit, flare gun, flares, salt, accelerant, Colt and clips loaded with tracer rounds, cedar stakes, holy water, a machete – check and check, water, rope, gloves, a shitload of neon pink twine, M&Ms – checkity, check, check, check.

OK maybe Dad did have a point. Maybe he was a little compulsive but hell, here he was going by himself into a god damn _cave_, into fucking enclosed spaces central. And Dad hadn't been the one packing up a million and one itsy bitsy baby things trying to make sure that none of Sam's favorite toys were left behind when they'd had to bolt over the years. Stuck in the Impala a few too many times driving away from Bun-Bun or _Goodnight, Moon _with Dad calmly reviewing how to do a final re-con even though he had been the one yelling 'move it, move it', while Sam screamed himself hoarse in the back seat, taught you stuff really fast. Dad had taught Dean a whole lot of really important stuff just that way.

He slung the duffle over his shoulder and tied one end of his first ball of twine to a stout trunk before putting a straight branch through the center of the ball. He could hold the stick in one hand, or even jam it in his pocket, and let the twine play out as he walked. Other than luminescent paint, which he couldn't imagine taking the time to daub on the walls as he passed, the twine seemed like a way to leave a return path that even tourists could follow and understand in the beam of a flashlight. Keeping his finger on the twine as it played out, he entered the cave, and reaching the back, ducked down a little and slipped through a small passage which opened quickly into a larger cavern.

He set the twine down as he began to circle the perimeter of the cavern, searching for anything that would help him track the apes and the two humans. According to the map he'd purchased, there were two major passages out of the cavern, and several minor ones. As he moved through the cavern it was clear that the entire space wasn't, like the sinkhole, coated in a fine layer of fur. Maybe they sunbathed or something out there. That should mean that he would only find a concentration of fur on the paths they routinely followed, which meant that he had a way other than the damn smell to track them. Which was good since his nose was starting to feel stuffed up. As luck would have it, the entrance to the first major passageway was sporting several tufts. Rubbing a clump between his thumb and forefinger, he checked the map and walked to the entrance of the second main passage finding it fur free.

He picked the ball of twine back up, hooked the stick in his pocket, and with this thumb on the twine, ducked into the new passage. He wasn't noticing the walls closing in around him too much, and it was enclosed, but so far the lure of the hunt was much stronger than any concerns he had about, well, rats, claustrophobia, and his flashlight batteries all dying at once. He needed music, and Motorhead was just about right so he counted out beats to _Brave New World _counting out beats on his pants leg, making sure the twine played out behind him. He raised the twine occasionally and looped it around formations as he passed, and if he had to backtrack, he clipped off the twine leading in the wrong direction. His nose began to tingle a bit and run. He rubbed it and then his eyes – both probably some kind of reaction to the whole enclosed being in a cave thing and kept moving.

Despite how enclosed he felt, he couldn't help but admire things he saw as he ghosted through, passing a pool of water so still and reflecting so perfectly he could barely tell where the water ended and the cave wall began in the distance. Some of the stalagmites and stalactites formed faces or objects that morphed into others as he moved past them. As he passed one particularly beautiful formation he allowed his fingers to trail over the surface. He must have jumped a foot, and almost dropped his flashlight when the formation turned to a shower of dust under his hand. God, if Sammy had seen him that, he would never hear the end of it. He probably just destroyed something a billion years old. After two hours, he took a much needed piss in a rivulet moving somewhere further underground and smiled when he imagined what Sam would have said about that. At least nothing dissolved or fell into pieces. The temperature in the cave had dropped as he moved further in, finally holding at about 65 but the humidity made him feel like he was walking through invisible fog. He had considered not bringing his leather jacket into the cave, but was glad of it and his layered shirts now.

It wasn't until he'd tied off and replaced the ball of twine five times, meaning he'd played out over two thousand yards, that he finally heard a noise. It wasn't clear at first, so he went still, closed his eyes, and 'stretched' his ears as much as he could. He moved ahead, as quietly as he'd ever been trained, his feet finding clear spaces to toe into, and waited for the next sound. There it was, slightly louder, and he was led to a low passageway on the left hand wall. There were clumps of hair near the entrance, but if not for that noise he might have passed it and had to retrace his steps. He had to clear his throat and rub his eyes a little bit, but bending over, he started into the passage.

He could stand after just a few steps, then had to turn sideways, and twist himself through a tight turn, so tight he had to tug off the duffle and push it ahead of him to free up some space. He was able to work his way ahead, and when his breathing started to speed up and hitch, sternly reminded himself that so far even if it was a freaking cave, there was plenty of open and so far rat free space around him. As he pulled himself out of the tight passageway his flashlight illuminated a largish space. He once again lashed twine around a stalagmite to mark the way back to the cramped passage and added an arrow to the map, noting that the delineation of this particular direction went only about 50 yards before graying out with a notation of "Off Limits".

He took a quick break, sitting on a sturdy looking chunk of rock, and snagged a bottle of water from the duffle. He checked his watch and was astounded to note that he'd been in the caves for almost four hours. His eyes felt like sand had gotten into them and maybe it had, but more likely it was the drifting ape fur. He rubbed his face and pulled out his bag of M&M's. Just as he was opening the bag, he thought he heard something over the crinkle of the package, and came up like a shot, flashlight out from under his arm and tracking with his eyes and gun across the opening.

His brain was probably just playing tricks on him, reflecting his flashlight beam or something, but he was seriously getting a little freaked. After a few minutes of silence, he took the time to replace the batteries in his flashlight, turning on his first spare to guide him. He thumbed on the EMF meter which he'd tucked in his coat pocket at the last minute. Not a light or a squeal but the general feeling of creepiness was making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He left the EMF on, tucking it back in a pocket, before hoisting the duffle and re-securing the colt in his waistband.

He heard a noise again, and ghosting forward, moved deeper into the passageway until it opened up into a larger cavern with smaller side rooms or passages. He took down the 'Danger - No Going Beyond This Point' sign blocking the path – the apes probably stepped over it, but if he were in a hurry coming back, he'd pitch face first over it. He wondered for the fifth time how the Stink apes even got around in here without any light. He stepped forward and just as he set his foot down, his entire body was racked by a sneeze. He pulled in another breath, and sneezed again, his whole body rocking back and forth, two times, three times, and on the fourth sneeze, he dislodged the rock under his right foot, throwing his right then left legs in the air, and sending him sliding down an incline on his back and directly over a bank and into a stream.

He got his feet mostly under him before going into the water. The biting cold shocked the sneezes and almost the air right out of him. He finally managed to steady himself, dripping, panting, and wheezing. The rocks in the stream bed were slick as glass, and the knee high water was moving pretty quickly, which made keeping his balance a bitch. His attempts to return to the bank were more like walking a fun house floor than a stream bed. He'd kept both his gun and flashlight up and dry, and he didn't think much beyond his jeans and feet got wet. The twine was somewhere up the slope he came down. He took a step and wiggled his right foot to make sure his boot had purchase and began to transfer his weight forward when he felt something brush past him in the water and tug on his left boot. He shouted, "What the hell?" as the EMF went off madly in his pocket.

OOOOO

A/N: I know that Bobby was not introduced in the first season until Devil's Trap. I'm perfectly comfortable believing that whatever John did to piss Bobby off happened after January 2005.


	4. In a totally nonstalkerish kind of way

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story belongs to Merisha.

A/N 2: Made the post on Friday, even though I have been wrestling this chapter through several versions. This was a hard one for me to write.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

The faucets were just weird, the shower curtain was covered in golf lingo, and the towels had little embroidered golf balls on them. There was even an electric golf ball washer. He understood obsession, hell he'd grown up with Dad, but this was like a disease. He was rooting in the first aid kit for some antibiotic cream for a scratch on his arm when he brought up an epi-pen from the bottom of the kit. He flipped it, checking the expiration date. It was almost new. "Hey Dean – what's with the epi-pen in the kit?" He didn't hear a reply, so he stuck his head out the door, "Dean!"

Dean was just stepping back into the room from a trip to the car. "Yell much?" He picked up a folded blanket and two pillows from his bed and looked up. "Do you need help with the cuts? They didn't look that bad yesterday."

Distracted, he said, "Were you going to steal those?" pointing at the bedding. Dean didn't stop, just turned him as he walked by and brought them both back into the bathroom. He set the bedding on the counter, and picked up the tube of antibiotic cream.

"Yeah, Hector Aframian's treat. We're lucky the card didn't bounce after Jericho." He caught Sam's expression. "Dude, you have got to chill. We always need stuff like this in the car." He held up the blanket waving at the embroidered golf balls. "This is an awesome blanket. Don't you think a golf blanket will give the trunk a little class?" He inspected Sam's arm, then looked up. "The cut is barely there, Sam, what did you need help with?" He dabbed cream on it anyway.

Sam held out his hand, showing Dean the epi-pen. "Why do we have one of these in the first aid kit? It's not because of that bee-sting when I was five is it?"

Dean hesitated for a second and then put the cap back on the cream and put it and the epi-pen back in the kit. "Yep, can't have you swelling up." He turned and headed back to the door, kit, blanket and pillows in hand. He turned and waited. "You comin?"

"It was just one time, Dean, and it wasn't that bad. I swear you and Dad thought I was going to die if I stubbed my toe and you were way worse than him." He left the bathroom in a couple of quick steps, pulling his long sleeved shirt on, grabbed his duffle and walked to the door. Dean checked the bathroom one last time, and stepped out to join him, glancing around the room.

He seemed to be counting something, but stopped to say, "That's because you were always such a wuss, even after you got all Gigantor on us." As they stepped out the door, Sam heard him say, under his breath, "Check."

At IHOP, Sam watched in appalled silence as Dean emptied an entire container of maple syrup on his waffle breakfast, extra bacon. He glanced down at his egg white omelet and whole wheat toast. He cleared his throat and signaled for the waitress. She brought another carafe of coffee and looked at him expectantly. He ordered a stack of blueberry pancakes and another container of syrup.

Dean watched the interchange knowingly. As soon as Sam put the first bite in his mouth, he drawled, "Aw, Sam, I'm a corrupting influence again."

Sam snorted with laughter and almost choked. "You remember that too? I thought I'd bust a gut when that teacher said that to Dad – the look on his face was hysterical. Here he was at his first parent-teacher meeting in what – three years – and that's the first thing he hears? He was trying so hard not to laugh that I just lost it. She must have thought we were all nutjobs after that."

Dean was smiling too. "I don't think he ever came to another school conference. I'm still not sure why he came to that one. You know, Ms. McGee said you had great potential – as long as I didn't hold you back."

"She never said that!"

"Sure she did, Sam. I called in as Dad to get a copy of our records when we had to move. I saw her when I went to pick them up. She almost wouldn't give me the folders – she must have thought I was going to piss on them or something."

"But why did _she_ give them to you?"

"She was in the office holding them when I got there." He sipped some coffee. "I always thought she was hoping to see Dad again. Maybe she had the hots for him."

"TMI, really, TMI. But come on you were what, fourteen? How much corrupting could you have done? It's not like you burned the building down - you were getting good grades at that school."

Dean swallowed a huge bite of waffle, and took a gulp of coffee. He pointed his fork at Sam. "She pegged me right enough. I _was_ a corrupting influence on you. You were such a prissy pain in the ass at ten -- you were begging to be corrupted."

Sam barked out a laugh. "Oh, that's rich. You couldn't have 'corrupted' me anyway."

"Sammy, the Easter Bunny could have corrupted you – even if it did go batfuck insane listening to you talk about trespassing to hide the eggs and de-beaking chickens and the inhumane conditions of modern egg production." He chewed thoughtfully and added, "A gust of wind could have corrupted you."

"It's Sam and that's BS. At ten, I don't think I really needed to be corrupted." Dean was more than willing to correct that misconception, but when he opened his mouth, Sam cut him off, rushing a sentence out. "What about Ormond Beach?"

Sam heard Dean grumble something that sounded a bit like him still being a prissy _emo_ pain in the ass, but when he said, "What did you just say, jerk?", Dean's only reply was a smile and "Nothing, bitch."

"Come on, Dean, I'm serious. Let's go to Florida for a couple of days. I'd really like to see Jeremy. You liked him didn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on, "There'll be plenty of room, we'll be on the beach, scantily clad co-eds disporting in the surf…"

"'You're making them sound like Flipper or something."

"There'll be bikinis everywhere Dean – more than you can imagine."

He replied with a grin, "I don't know, kid, I can imagine quite a lot. But, bikinis or not, the last place I ever want to be again is Florida. We could get to New Orleans in a day. Now that's the place to be for Christmas – the French quarter, beignets, jazz… we could have a great couple of days _and_ nights".

Sam fixed his eyes on his brother, widening them slightly, and let his mouth drop a bit at the corners. "Dean, I'm not looking for anything other than a day or two to see some friends. It's been hard – a lot of them were really good friends of ours for years. They just want to make sure my big brother is taking care of me."

"Ah, crap, don't go all big eyed on me. Call them. Email them. Send a card. Hell, we'll send them a severed finger, just please let's not go to Florida."

That was all Sam needed, the please. He had this in the bag.

OOOOO

Once they were on the road, Sam asked, "So tell me about the time you and Dad spent there – was it about two years ago?"

Dean simply said, "Nothing to tell."

"Dean, I should know what we might be up against."

"No, you won't, because we aren't going to be there long enough to care or to hunt." He took a breath. "Look, why don't I just drop you off, and come back when you call? New Orleans is looking better and better… I met this girl there who makes the best gumbo."

"The invitation was to both of us. Jeremy wants to see you again."

Dean looked at him incredulously. "Jeremy doesn't know me. You should be glad none of your friends do as long as you want to try to keep up the whole 'normal' thing. I'll do my best but I'm not going to fit in well with a houseful of your college friends."

"Come on Dean, you always fit in. All the girls in my class had crushes on you. And they were all jealous of me having a brother like you." He rolled his eyes but Sam caught him. "No, really, you were like my personal Anti-Bully device."

"That was middle school. Hell, by the time you were in tenth grade, you were embarrassed when I picked you up at school. Although I'm sure the girls all still had crushes on me." He waved a hand when Sam tried to interrupt. "Don't worry about it. I think every kid is embarrassed of their family in high school, Sam, it's just part of wanting to fit in with your peers. Establishing your identity."

"You sound like Oprah. What's up with that?" Dean didn't answer. Sam considered what he said, and said quietly, "I don't remember you ever being embarrassed of me and Dad."

"I guess I wasn't that much of a kid." Sam tried to interrupt him but he went on. "You were the smart one, the ϋber smart kid, and your friends weren't stupid. You were afraid they would get suspicious about what me and Dad did. At least I met them. You wouldn't bring them within a mile of our place when Dad was home."

"Dean, I'm not in high school anymore. I don't find you embarrassing."

"Pretty sure that's not what you would have said if I'd shown up at Stanford beat to hell after a hunt." Dean turned to smile at Sam. "And can you see Dad showing up for a campus tour?"

Sam laughed out loud at the image. He turned to Dean. "I can see him now. He would have asked where the salt lines were. The docent would have had a heart attack. But seriously, I won't go to Jeremy's if you don't want to come." When Dean didn't answer, he said, "So tell me about what you hunted last time you were in Florida."

Dean hit the steering wheel, and turned the radio up to ear splitting. Damn Stanford – he used to be able to deflect his Mensa brother for hours. He growled, "Still nothing to tell."

It wasn't until they'd crossed into Florida that something finally clicked in Sam's head. "I never told you about Jeremy."

Dean sighed quietly – why the kid couldn't just forget what he said yesterday, he would never know. He didn't take his eyes off the road, hoping that Sam hadn't made the connection he was sure he had. "What are you talking about? I met him at the funeral – I just got his name mixed up for a minute."

"I'm not talking about his name, you moron. I never told you about the house in San Diego," and holding up his hand, "and don't try to tell me that he told you about the house at the funeral." Sam suddenly cranked his head around and stared at Dean. "You were checking on me too? Why didn't you tell me? You said Dad had, not you." His eyes widened, "I finally thought I was on my own, and away from hunting, and here you two were sneaking around behind my back and checking up on me the whole time. How naïve could I be?"

"That right there is why I didn't tell you, Sam. We knew you would freak out. We didn't spy on you, we protected you, just, um, well, we checked on you, in a totally non-stalkerish kind of way."

Sam sputtered, "You found out where I went on summer break. How is that not stalkerish? No wonder you just showed up at my apartment on Halloween. Man, this _is_ freaking me out."

"Did you really think I could just stop looking out for your ass because you went to college?"

"I didn't think about it. I thought you and Dad would do what you wanted and I could finally do what I wanted, see if I could take care of myself for once, have a normal life." He crossed his arms over his chest, and glared out of the window. After a few minutes, Dean heard him sigh and cut his eyes over. Sam looked back, smiled and shrugged. "It's hard to be angry now for something I didn't even know was happening. You were just trying to protect me. It's just that if anyone had caught you…"

"Yeah, like that would have happened. But if it had, you would have been embarrassed. Like high school. I get it. We got it."

Sam gazed out the window. Dean was right – his brother and father caught breaking and entering with salt, holy water, and dream catchers? That was almost as appalling an idea as his Dad on a campus tour. He finally pulled out his phone and called Jeremy. They spoke for a few minutes and he got directions to the house. "Yeah, he can't wait to come" he said into the phone, cutting his eyes toward Dean, "He remembers you too." Dean waved a hand dismissively at him. "Yes, we are in _the_ car… you can tell him all about it when we get there." Dean made a thumb's up gesture. "He's always glad to talk about the Impala."

Hanging up, Sam pulled out his laptop and checked maps. They were on 41, and it looked like they were going to head to 100 through Starke, stay north of Gainesville and then drop south and east to the coast just north of Ormond Beach. "Jeremy said if we took 75 pretty much straight south from here we could go through Ocala and eat at this little restaurant he found. He said it was the best bacon cheeseburger on the face of the planet. It would add a few miles to the trip but we don't have a deadline for anything." He looked up at Dean, only to see a look of disgust on his face. "What, you don't like _Florida_ bacon cheeseburgers?

Dean said, "Yeah, all the beef here has chupacabra spit on it. And there's no way in hell I'm going through Ocala."

"That's just gross." He brooded and just as he started to yawn, he looked at Dean, and said quietly, "Why didn't you let me know when you came to Stanford? Why didn't you come and see me?"

Dean watched his eyes droop – so much for shotgun duty. But it meant he didn't need to answer. He knew just how soon the noise and the vibration of the car would lull his little brother to sleep.


	5. Better too many rounds than too few

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story however belongs to Merisha.

ooooo January 2004 ooooo

He almost went ass first into the water as he spun, playing the flashlight over the water's surface. How could something that huge hide in a stream this small? He kept his gun and flashlight trained together, and took another step toward the stream bank. He was almost to the edge, when he felt something touch the calf of his left leg, but this time he saw something. He emptied the clip, firing eight times, easily tracking the phosphorus trail as the bullets slipped into the water. He knew the water would deflect most of the bullets' momentum, but that sucker was big and he found out he'd hit something when he heard thrashing and a high pitched howl coming from downstream a few seconds later. He pulled himself up on the bank and dropped his pack, dropped the clip, slid a new one in with a satisfying snick, snagged his cedar stakes and holy water, and hared off down the stream.

He came around a bend, hopping over a couple of rocks, when he saw what looked to be two circular lights on the far side of the stream - no wonder it could see in the dark. He brought up his flashlight and gun with a snap, and found himself less than 15 feet away from an immense, bleeding, and clearly pissed off Skunk Ape. He heard the EMF screeching, but that noise disappeared with everything else when the thing threw its head back and screamed out a heart stopping ululating roar that seemed to stop time, stopped the air in his chest, even stopping his brain, before bringing its head down and charging.

He shook himself and fired as he'd been taught, methodically and ruthlessly. He put a bullet between its eyes, two in its heart, and one in each knee, before he could even think clearly. The ape dropped, one arm resting in the water, motionless. He found some exposed rocks and crossed the stream, placing another round into its head for good measure, before heaving it over to start the insanely bloody task of staking it through the heart. He had to hammer the stake home with a rock and just hoped he wouldn't have to decapitate it too. He poured holy water on it and listened to it hiss and damn, if the thing didn't appear to move. He couldn't repress a shiver as put his last round point blank into its head. He took deep breaths and tried to calm down as he watched steam from the holy water join the sputtering sparks and smoke from the bullets to drift upwards.

It looked like the knee shots were overkill but better too many rounds than too few as Dad always said. He'd have to come back with the flare gun and torch it. As he crossed back over the stream, he stepped a little hard on his left leg and hissed in pain. By the time he made it back to his pack, and found a place to sit down with his back against a rock, he was limping pretty badly. He rinsed off his hands as much he could in the freezing water before pulling up his jeans and wincing when he saw his calf. He grunted a little when the pain finally percolated its way up and into his brain and squeezed hard, making his teeth chatter and his hands shake. If the water had been any warmer, he would have felt the thing's claws slicing through his jeans and socks into his leg.

He set the big flashlight end up, and pulled his little maglight out. Holding that in his mouth, he rolled the sock down his leg to check his ankle and foot. His boot was scarred with claw tracks and he had just one deep slice on his ankle just above his boot top. His calf though looked liked hell. There were four parallel cuts running from the top of the shin around the outside of his leg, the displaced strips of skin and flesh still attached and hanging dawn his leg. He grabbed the first aid kit, and doused everything with alcohol, allowing himself one loud "Shit!" as the disinfectant made his eyes water. He knew he'd need stitches eventually, but he'd worry about that after he got out of this god forsaken place. He repositioned the strands back into the cuts, applied pressure bandages and had just begun wrapping his leg, when he heard a small voice say,

"Is anyone there"?

He raised his head slowly, holding the bandage in place with his right hand, and used his left to raise the big flashlight. There, right across the stream in an entrance to a side passage, was the face of a young boy. When the kid threw up his arm to block his eyes, Dean dropped the beam of light to the cave floor. Dark hair hung in his eyes, which were as wide and frightened as any he'd ever seen, but he looked back at Dean bravely enough.

"Mister, can you help my mom? She's sick."

Dean rubbed at his eyes, and sneezed. The kid looked a little startled, and realizing the kid couldn't see him very well, he turned on a second flashlight, and set it down near him. The walls were crystalline and reflected well which helped provide a little illumination. "Is she sneezing like me?" With that he sneezed again, violently, five or six times.

"Um, no, she's not sneezing. She's bleeding."

Dean pointed his flashlight away from the kid and toward the unfinished bandaging job on his leg. "That's just like me – see?" He held up the first aid kit. "I can probably help her." He hurried to finish wrapping his leg and tied off the bandage. Pulling down his shredded jean's leg, he stood, and got his balance. "On the way, kid." He packed up quickly and taking the flashlight, trailed up the incline to find the twine.

"Where are you going?"

He picked up the ball of twine and looked around, but the stick was a goner. He started down the incline and looked at the kid, who was still just staring at him. "You remember in Hansel and Gretel that they put down breadcrumbs to find the way back out of the forest, right? But the birds ate them? This", he said, holding up the twine and shining the flashlight on it, "is our path out of here and its _way_ better than breadcrumbs because nothing will eat it." The kid was still silent, so he added, "I can't imagine anything that would eat red string, can you?"

"Will those things eat it?"

He aimed the flashlight directly at the kid for a minute. "Nope. But if they did, they'd get their insides all _knotted_ up". The child didn't smile, but it was the best clean pun he could come up with spur of the moment. He had brown hair, which he wore in a mop just like Sam did when he was that age. Actually, Sam _still_ wore it that way. He hadn't changed his haircut in twenty years. It was hard to believe they were related sometimes. Just proved the adage, well Dean's adage, that only one child in a family inherited the cool genes and it hadn't been Sam.

He dropped the ball of twine by his duffle. He started upstream, away from the ape, talking and sneezing the whole way, while looking for a way to cross. "My name is Dean, kid, what's yours?" He found a likely place, and made his way across, and walked back. "I came here to find you and your mom." When he was opposite his flashlight on the other side, he turned right and walked toward the kid slowly but the kid freaked a little and started to back away like he was going to retreat back into the passage. "Whoa. Hey, I'm here to help. Look, I'll sit down for a minute." He squatted, but that put pressure on his calf, so he sat down and leaned back with his legs stretched out. "Would you like some water?" He pulled a bottle out of his pack. He twisted off the top and held it out, "Go ahead, take it. Look, I'll put it right here on this rock", he leaned as far toward the kid as he could and set the bottle down about three feet from the boy. He sat back and ran his hands up under his sleeves, scratching each arm in turn. His left leg was throbbing from his toes to his hip.

"I've got M&Ms too," holding up the yellow bag, "but only the peanut kind." He heard a rustle and glanced over to see the kid pick up the bottle. "Can you eat peanuts?" The boy nodded. "We'll have some once we get to your mom." When he still remained silent, Dean said, "Are you always this quiet, kid, because it's really starting to creep me out. My brother wouldn't shut up when he was your age. What's your name?" When he got no reply, he levered himself, up, and said, "OK, but I got to you call something." He reached in his back and pulled out the spare spare flashlight. "Only kids with names get to have their very own flashlight in the cave." He held it out, "I could call you…" he quickly reviewed and discarded most of the knicknames he had for Sam, "Shortstop, or Dorkweasle, or Rabbitface…", and that finally got a reaction, a small laugh. Good. "Or maybe … no, I like Dorkweasle."

"It's not Dorkweasle. It's Adam."

"What – Adam Sandler?" He handed a flashlight to him.

"No", he laughed, "Adam McDevitt, my mom is Jill McDevitt."

He put his hand on the kid's shoulder. "Of the Baraboo Wisconsin McDevitt's?" When Adam's eyes widened a little, surprised, he continued, "I've been looking for you. Come on, let's go find your mom."

Adam gestured toward the passageway, "The room isn't too far back. I came out when I heard something. It's the way the things go but I didn't hear one of them."

"There's more than one?"

"Yeah, two we think. Anyway, this is going to be a lot easier with a flashlight".

Dean stepped in front of him, and felt Adam trying to grab a hold of his coat. As he moved forward he had to keep brushing more of that damned fur away from his face. He sneezed again, and his eyes started to water. They felt kind of swollen too. What a pain in the ass. He wasn't going to be able to sneak up on anything with a cold and somehow he didn't think sneezing on a Skunk Ape would be very effective.

"Is there more than one way in and out of the place you are with your Mom?"

"I don't think so, it's pretty small. I could tell that by the sound." He was crowded up behind Dean obviously wanting to go faster. "She's back there. She didn't want me going anywhere and she must be really worried about me. But when I heard you cuss, I knew for sure you had to be human 'cause those things don't talk." Dean could feel his hand shaking.

They had gone a couple of yards by then and the ceiling of the passage lowered but only enough to make him have to duck his head. He called out, "Mrs. McDevitt, can you hear me?"

Adam yelled, "Mom, we're coming to get you."

Dean heard a voice, and a moment later, the passage turned once, then again, and they came into a small space. Dean played his flashlight around until he found Mrs. McDevitt. Adam dropped his flashlight and jumped forward into her arms. "Look, Mom, Dean's here to rescue us! We're going to get out of here." She was probably in her thirties, dark hair like Adam, and fortunately, like Adam, wearing a jacket.

Dean waited for a moment until her eyes adjusted, then shone his flashlight toward himself. "I'm Dean Winchester, ma'am. Adam said you were hurt? May I take a look – I've got a first aid kit." He approached, and took the kit and two more bottles of water out of his pack. "Would you like some water?" Still not speaking, she nodded, and accepted the bottle, as he kneeled next to her. "Do you want some more water, Adam?"

Adam shook his head vigorously. "No, I drank that whole other bottle all by myself. Mom, you should have heard Dean, he said a really really bad word." Dean grimaced a bit and looked up at her.

"That was before I knew he was there. I'll be careful from now on. Where are you hurt?"

"I must have dozed off – I didn't even know he was gone until you came back with him." She straightened up and held her arms a little bit away from her sides. "My arms are pretty cut up." She glared at her son, "What did I say about leaving?"

Adam looked down, "Not to."

"Exactly. And you left because…."

"But Mom, I heard something, and it wasn't one of those things, it was Dean, and if I hadn't, maybe he wouldn't have found us and we would have never gotten out of here and we both would've _died_!"

Dean smiled at her and said, "He's just like my little brother at his age. But he did find me." He looked at the boy. "Adam, I need some help with your Mom because we need to pack up and get out of here before the thing comes back, right?" Adam nodded, "Go get your flashlight and bring it over here. I need you to point it at your mom so I can see her arms. Can you do that?" Dean heard the gulp, but Adam scooted over to pick up the flashlight.

Once he helped her remove the jacket, he could see slicing cuts on her upper arms probably from when she'd been grabbed. They had bled at first, but they weren't very deep and had stopped bleeding. "These aren't too bad. I'm going to clean them up a bit and wrap them, but that's all I'll need to do before we leave." She watched carefully as he swabbed them with disinfectant. They bled a little more but were stopping on their own by the time he finished wrapping them. He handed some ibuprofen to Mrs. McDevitt, who begged him to call her Jill, and then helped her to her feet. He tried to take a few himself, but spit them out when he sneezed, then coughed, turning away and trying to cover his mouth.

"Sorry, sorry," he waved a hand, "I'm fine, be ready in a minute." When he could finally breathe, he could hear himself wheezing. "This is the fastest any cold has ever come on."

Jill said, "Do you have any sudafed or benedryl in your kit?"

He bent to pick up the kit and looked at it for a moment, before looking up, "You mean stuff for allergies? Huh." He thought for a moment, "No, we never did have any trouble with regular allergies, although I think I'll probably pack Kleenex from now on." He rubbed his nose and cleared his throat again. "Do you need some?"

"Well, you're having trouble with allergies now." Dean had put the duffle on his back, when she took his arm and shone Adam's flashlight on it. "You've got hives on your arms, see? You've been scratching them."

Dean looked down – he'd been scratching his arms so hard they were bleeding. Without even thinking, he reached up to scrub his hair, and before he could bring his arm away, he rubbed at his eyes. "I've never had allergies before."

Adam chipped in, "I'm allergic to bee stings."

Dean said, "Hey, so's my brother Sam."

Adam grinned, but his mom said, "It was really frightening the last time wasn't it, hon?"

"Ah, it wasn't too bad. Hey, what about those M&Ms?"

Dean looked at Jill, who nodded, before handing over the bag. "Go nuts, kid. Let's get out of this room and back to the place we met, Adam. The faster we start moving, the warmer we'll be." His wet jeans were starting to make him shiver. He handed Adam's flashlight to Jill, but before Adam could complain, he pulled a high intensity maglight out of his pocket, showing him how to focus the beam and widen it. "Dude, you now have the officially coolest flashlight here."

"I'm in front, Adam you behind me, Jill last." They got back through the passageway to the stream, still lit by Dean's flashlight, and to the crossing Dean had found before. Adam was a little spooked, so Dean carried him, Jill crossing easily behind him. He got them down to the start of the path back, and picked up his flashlight. "You want the bigger one, Adam?"

"No, I want to keep the cool one. Hey Mom, check out how everything looks all sparkly."

"I've got to go down there," he said, pointing in the direction of the dead ape, "and do something before I leave. He picked up the string and showed it to Adam and Jill. "I left this to help find the path back. We should be able to see it as we walk, and you can keep a hand on it as you go. The map", and here he showed it to Jill with Adam looking on", shows that we are right here", pointing, "and if you follow these arrows the other way, you'll see the path I took coming in. We'll end up in a sink hole, not too deep, open to the sky. I've got a rope ladder set there to climb back out."

Jill looked at him, suddenly wary. "You aren't the Park Service or the Police?"

He got his pistol and checked the clip, pursing his lips when he found it empty. He replaced the clip, chambered a round, and reloaded. "No, not the police. They're out looking for wild dogs or terrorists right about now, and only above ground. I'm not official but I will get you out of here."

She looked fearful now, still not quite sure she trusted Dean. "Is my husband OK?" Dean nodded.

"Why don't you two take the map and the twine", handing the ball to Adam, "and climb the hill here and if you can, see if you can worm through the passage. You'll make it like a champ, Adam, and you too Jill. It got a little tight for me, but", he gestured around the cavern, "then most everyplace in a cave is a little tight for me. If you hear anything, come back here yelling, OK? I'll be behind you as fast as I can." He started down the bank while Jill and Adam began climbing the hill.

He was betting on the second one coming to the cavern by water like the first. He sure didn't want Jill and Adam meeting it on the way back.


	6. Do you kids get to drink beer?

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story however belongs to Merisha.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

If Sam had any lingering resentment, it disappeared the minute he saw the ocean. The sun was shining, he could hear the surf, and saw a flight of brown pelicans skimming the water a few yards out. Pointing at the V of birds, he said, "Did you know that brown pelicans were almost extinct forty years ago – DDT. They've made almost a complete come back." He looked over at Dean, who was staring at him, mouth a little open. "What – they have."

"Dude, how can you possibly remember this stuff? Why do you even want to remember this stuff?"

"I took Ecology and the Environment in High School and…"

"I know, Ninth grade Mr. Demerest, but the point is, why are you keeping it up there in your giant head? You know your brain is just like that warehouse at the end of _Raiders of the Lost Ark_, don't you? Miles and miles of boxes, stacked floor to ceiling, no one sure what's in any one of them. You open one and your head is squished to pulp, you open the next box and… no wait it is _your_ brain after all, so your head is always squished to pulp or melts or explodes no matter what box you open."

"Yeah, well what's in your head besides my high school schedule? Movie posters, car parts, and guns?"

"Damn right, that is kick ass stuff. I get to keep it all smashed in the little space that isn't taken up with watching out for Dad and your skinny ass." He closed his mouth so suddenly Sam could hear his teeth snap together. He put in a tape and cranked up the volume.

"Dean, I get it that you were just looking out for me just like you always looked out for me, OK? I'm not mad about you checking on me in California, _really_" he emphasized to get Dean's attention. "It was such a surprise and yeah, it hurt when I realized you were that close but didn't let me see you. I didn't miss the job, I didn't miss the way we lived, but I really missed _you_, that's all."

"That really wasn't the message coming through, Sam." He slowed down to turn south on Route 1. "Did you know that Route 1 used to be _the_ major road up the east coast? It goes from Key West right through Maine and into Canada. I always wanted to drive it all the way one day, like we did 66, remember?" He looked over at Sam. "I have a little space left over up here," tapping his head, "to keep room for roads, you know. And pie. And monsters – there's always room for those."

Sam decided to give him the change of subject this time. "You seem to have plenty of room for bad pick up lines." Dean signaled a hit, making Sam smile. After a few minutes, Dean had to remind him to give him the directions to Jeremy's house.

"Are his folks going to be there, or do you kids get to drink beer and stay up late?"

OOOOO

Dean had to admit, Jeremy's house was big. It was practically on the beach and from the side patio, you could walk onto the golf course of the Oceanside Country Club. This was sure as shit going to remind Sam of what his life after Stanford might have been like if he hadn't come to collect him and Jess had… damn Stanford anyway. When Jeremy showed them a room with two queen size beds, saying 'I hope you don't mind sharing', he felt Sam almost go boneless next to him, relaxing into the atmosphere of luxury and clean sheets. He, on the other hand, was starting to tense up, so out of his element and away from golf ball key chains and moldy shower curtains he almost didn't know what to do with himself. Jeremy stood in the door as they put their bags down. "Come out to the back yard when you want to. Most of us are out there."

Sam smiled and said he'd be right there and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean heard water running. He changed his shoes, tossed his denim shirt on the bed and gave himself a cursory once over in the mirror before standing by the room's window looking over what must be the back yard. When Sam emerged, he'd changed out of his T-shirt and into a loose buttoned shirt and shaved.

Sam headed for the door. "I'm going to go down, Dean, why don't you…" but Dean came up to the door with him. "Did you want to wash or change first?"

"No, I'm fine." He looked up and saw Sam's expression. "Dude, what, I'm fine."

"Don't you want to change into another shirt?"

"You want me to borrow one of your frilly ones?" He eyed his brother speculatively. "I could wear a wife-beater and flex my biceps."

Sam looked meaningfully at Dean and cleared his throat. Damn Sam with the Throat Clearing of Doom, it was always a fucking prelude to saying something that he knew he wasn't going to want to hear. "I just thought you might want to dress up a little …" but stopped, clearly aware that he was going in a bad direction but not sure how to recover. "They'll be some people you haven't met."

He did not say the first thing that came to mind, instead he said the third or fourth. "I put on _sneakers_, Sam. I'm not packing. My face and hands are clean and there's nothing stuck in my teeth. Dude, quit thinking I'm going to embarrass you." He waved toward the window. "Everyone out there is dressed just like this." When Sam looked away, Dean threw his hands in the air. "You wanted me to be here and I'm here. And I don't dress up to sit by the pool and have a cocktail. Christ on a crutch, Sam, I'll play the normal routine for you but at this point, I'd rather be in New Orleans."

Sam sputtered out "Dean, that's not what I meant," but he knew it was exactly what he had been thinking. He'd been worried that Dean would come across as nothing more than a tough guy. Maybe he _was_ still in high school. "You won't embarrass me. Lets go. Jeremy is probably just waiting to drag you to the Impala for some car talk."

And he was right – Jeremy, Dean, and a couple of guys headed to the front of the house for an in depth inspection of the car. He picked up a beer and stood for a minute not sure of where to stand now that his brother was gone. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and then someone called his name, and was soon deep in hugs and conversation. When he looked up a few hours later, it was getting dark and he'd had a lot of beer. He found Dean out by the pool talking to Jenny and most of the available women. He signaled to Dean who excused himself and ambled over. Sam weaved a bit as he stepped forward, so much so that his brother caught his arm and steadied him. "No more mojitos for you. Do you want to head out and pick up dinner – Jenny and Brittany will come, and we can bring Jeremy because I think he really wants to get in Brit's pants."

"We don't have to go out, there's plenty of food inside. Haven't you had any?"

"No and I'm starving. Let's check out the spread because you, young man, need a break from the beer. Let's get something in you to absorb it." Before they got inside Sam was pulled off by Kit.

"I'll be with you in a minute." He did refuse the next dozen beers offered him but lost track of how much time had passed before he got away and into the kitchen. His brother was nowhere in sight, but food definitely was. He was sitting at a table talking, cleaning his third plate, when his cell phone rang. He checked the display and saw Caleb's name. He excused himself and walked over to one side of the pool to take the call. When he hung up, he looked around, realizing he hadn't seen Dean in a couple of hours. He checked the back yard then walked inside and poked his head into a few rooms. He found a pool table but no brother. He finally looked in their room. Still no Dean. He stood at the window for a moment. It was stupid to worry about him, and it was a little humiliating to admit that after only two months how weird it felt not to be able to see his brother.

It wasn't long before he heard the rumble of the Impala from the front of the house. He trotted down the stairs and out the front door just in time to see the car pulling in from the street. Dean, Jenny and Brit got out, and so did Jeremy. They were laughing and Dean smiled when he saw him.

"Hey Sam – I've got to take you to this great fish place we found – well Jeremy found. What was it, the Sunshine Fish something?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at their host, who was locked in an embrace with Brittany. "Not sure we'll hear much on that front for a while".

Sam approached Jenny. "Hey Jen."

"Hey Sam. I'm going to bed but I'll find you tomorrow for a long talk." She gave him a peck on the cheek and a hug, then turned to Dean and whispered something in his ear, before giving him a kiss and laughing. After she ran inside, Dean took Sam's arm and started to lead him back into the house.

"I can find the place again if you want to go. The crabs were great. Is there still dessert inside? I thought I saw Key Lime pie."

Sam stopped in the hall by the stairs. "Why didn't you tell me you were going out?"

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere. But Jeremy was jonesing for a ride in the car, you were surrounded, so we got in for a spin, and ended up there." He shot a concerned look at Sam. "You got plenty to eat here, didn't you?"

"Yeah, of course. Just wondered why you left without telling me. I was just getting to the point where I was going to check the bottom of the pool."

"If you mean the bottom of the pool table … why were you checking on me? Not enough friends here?" He smiled and gave him a push. "Did you have more beer?"

"No, I didn't. Caleb called but he didn't have time to talk. He's going to call back on Christmas. I wanted to ask him about what he hunted with Dad."

"Has he heard from Dad?"

"No, of course not. I would have told you right away." He took a breath. "What were you and Jenny talking about?"

"Not about you, strange as it might seem. And," he said with a smile, "since you haven't been drinking, you should be sober enough to play a game of pool with me. And what is it with Jenny?" He walked toward the game room, pulling Sam along in his wake. "Kit wants to play you while we're here. I handed him his ass three times in a row, but I'm pretty sure he still thinks it was a fluke."

"You're not always sober when you play pool."

"That's because I'm so much better than you."

"Dickhead." Sam racked the balls and held up the cue ball. "Shoot for the break?"

By the time they finished, Dean had won three games and mostly allowed Sam to win two. The kid was getting really good. They'd collected an audience, led by Kit who spent most of the time 'explaining' to anyone who would listen as to why Dean's shots looked hard but were actually easy. Dean wouldn't reply, just shrugged it off, but after a while, even Sam protested which finally shut Kit up. They were both challenged to games, but Sam excused himself to go to bed, leaving Dean in a roomful of people he barely knew. He excused himself as quickly as he could and followed him upstairs a few minutes later.

Sam was on his bed, leaning on the headboard with their father's journal in his lap when he got upstairs. As he opened the door, Sam said, "So you are having a good time?"

"Yeah, I am. The food is great, Jeremy's a push over, Jenny wants to have a private rendezvous", giving Sam waggle of his eyebrows, "but all things considered, I still hate Florida. I just don't hate this little piece of it right now. How are you hanging? OK with all these people, talking about Jess, that kind of thing?"

"So far everyone's been really careful not to talk too much about her, so yeah I'm OK. I just wish you'd stay away from Jenny that's all. I don't want her hurt." He scrubbed his face, and got under the covers. "Not sure if you remember, but she was Jess's best friend."

"I remember – but it's not like I'm luring her. And I'm not planning on hurting anyone". Sam turned his head and glared. "OK, OK, non-Jenny zone right here." He made a circling gesture around himself with his hands. "It's not like I'm not going to kidnap her or anything." He turned out the light. "But she might kidnap _me_."


	7. First we sneeze on you

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my betas: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story however belongs to Merisha.

ooooo January 2004 ooooo

The ape was still dead - it hadn't moved at all, for which he was insanely grateful. He splashed it liberally with kerosene before firing a flare into its chest. The body whooshed alight smoking furiously, and he was relieved to see most of the smoke venting away following the stream futher back into the caves. He reloaded the duffle and slung that over his back but held onto his gun. He tried to trot back to the exit, but his left leg was really starting to throb, so he settled for a fast limp. Just as he reached the flashlight he'd left he was bent double with a sneeze, rocking back up to pull in a breath.

He lost count of how many times he sneezed before he reared upright to find the second Skunk Ape looming over him. It opened its mouth and began making that howl, stunning him almost motionless, before swinging its right arm across him, swiping over his chest. He probably couldn't have moved at all if the things claws and the force of it's blow hadn't spun him smartly to the left. It brought his right side and right arm and right hand with the Colt into perfect alignment. He brought the gun up with a jerk, firing as fast as he could, emptying the clip point blank into whatever he could hit.

As he stood gasping for breath, watching the phosphorus spark and sputter, all he could think was what a nice fugly to come right to him and die at his feet, so close he wouldn't have to take even two steps to find it. Especially since he wasn't at all sure he could take two steps right this minute. He prodded it with his right foot, forgetting for a minute that placing all his weight on his left leg would probably hurt like a son of a bitch, and it did, but he still kicked the ape for good measure.

"God damn evil cave-dwelling baboons, think you can just start eating us?" He shoved and hammered and wrestled a cedar stake up under its ribs angling to where the heart should be. He liberally doused it with holy water. "You furry pieces of shit - we don't eat you." Next, he emptied the kerosene container over the body and set it neatly on its chest. "But this time, you found yourself a Winchester and we don't fall for the whole 'aren't we mysterious innocent creatures?' routine." He was having trouble breathing and his chest was on fire. He needed to calm down, so he stopped to wash his hands and arms in the stream, splashing his face and eyes, and sneezed a few times for good measure. The chest he'd look at later. "No, we Winchester men are not snacks! First we sneeze on you", he demonstrated, "then we shoot you, and then", he said backing up the hill with his flashlight and pack, "and then, we set you the fuck on fire and watch you burn." He fired the flare gun and watched as the corpse was enveloped in flame.

He got up the incline as quickly as he could and watched the corpse burn until he couldn't take the smoke anymore. He felt like he'd been wrung out and left to dry. He called out to Jill and Adam as he wormed his way through the tight passage, pushing the duffle ahead of him, but his blood was pumping so loudly in his ears that he didn't hear a reply. He got out and both Jill and Adam were waiting for him.

"Good thing I stayed back – the second one was behind us." Jill had her flashlight on him and he thought she was looking at him oddly. Her mouth opened but all he could hear was a high pitched buzzing in his ears. It was getting dark, and he tried to say "We need to put new batteries in the flashlights" but he wasn't sure how much actually came out before the ground rushed up and hit him.

OOOOO

When he woke up the most he could do for a few minutes was breathe. He felt a hand on his shoulder and a woman's voice. His head felt ten times larger than it should, like it was stuffed full of chamois cloth, and he couldn't breathe through his nose. The woman and a kid were sitting next to him when he was finally able to pry his eyes open. Pain flared across his chest and stomach when he tried to lift his head, so he let her, and Sa – no, just a kid because Sam is a million feet tall - hold his head up so he could drink some water. He blinked a couple of times, and said, "Where are we?" It sounded like gibberish even to him, so cleared his throat. The woman lifted his head again and gave him more water. He tried again, and this time it came out mostly clear to his ears. "Where?"

"We're still in the cave, just past the first tight passageway. We were leaving when something attacked you. You're injured."

Her voice drifted away for a while and it got dark again, but the sound of Sammy crying dragged him awake. "Sam? You OK?" It got quiet suddenly. He opened his eyes but couldn't see him. "Sam? Where are you?" He tried to get up but hands were holding him. "Sammy! Where's my brother?"

"Your brother's not here, Dean, Sam's fine, he's not here. Don't worry. This is my son, Adam, you remember him don't you? He's crying because he's worried about you." She pulled Adam forward. He was looking freaked out, his eyes huge, and there wasn't much light. Oh, right, she said cave, didn't she. He felt like hitting his head against something to get his brain jump started.

He stared at the kid, then looked at the woman, "Jill…" He licked his lips. He looked over at the kid, "and Adam, of the Baraboo McDevitt's." Adam brightened up a little.

"Dean, are you OK? What's wrong with you? I really don't want to be here anymore but Mom says you needed to wake up, and I totally didn't want to leave you, and I'd never leave you and Mom alone in here and no matter what _she_ says I really could follow the string out and get help, but Mom won't let me, she says we all have to go together but you were asleep", he finally took a breath, "a really long time and I want to go now." He looked at his mom, "Can we go now, Mom, please?"

Suddenly, Dean had to rub his nose and he felt something in the back of his throat. Oh crap. He sneezed which almost caused him to do an very involuntary sit up. "Oh, I could have done without that. I have to get up." Jill reached forward and helped him up to a sitting position. His head felt like it wasn't attached anymore, floating a few feet away from his shoulders. He tried to glance down at his chest but his coat was covering it. He plucked at it absently, running his hand over his head. Puzzled he asked Jill, "Did I hit my head?"

"I don't think so, at least not when you passed out."

"Yeah, you fell right on top of Mom!"

"Ah, sorry. I'm feeling a little weird." He pulled his jacket to one side and watched something fall into his lap. He picked it up and eyed it suspiciously. It was his T-shirt. He saw his flashlight and pointed it at his chest, saying "Shit" when he saw the bandages. Adam laughed, which made Dean remember. "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have said that. This looks, um, OK, I guess." Jill must have used his tee shirt to stop the bleeding. At least she didn't cut up his long sleeved shirt. He looked at her and asked, "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours. You were in and out a few times."

He pushed a hand down, and used an outcropping to pull himself up. When Jill tried to help, he waved her off, hissing through the pain. He almost fell but made it upright and held onto the wall until his feet steadied under him. A sharp pain in his left leg made him catch his breath. He tried to look down at his leg, but that only made him dizzier, and damn if it also didn't make his heart pound in his chest.

Adam bounded over, waving the maglite, "Does this mean we can go now?"

"I'm working on it, sport." He used both hands to pull up his leg by his jeans and set his foot on top of a rock at about knee height. He looked at Jill, "Just want to take a quick look. How are your arms?" He tugged up the jeans leg and reached out a hand but Jill stopped him.

"My arms are OK. I can check your leg." She unwrapped his calf, revealing more and more blood on the wrap as she worked. "Adam, I want you to take my flashlight, hold the string, and walk three hundred steps out and then walk back – let me hear you counting, so talk loudly, OK? See if you can check out what's ahead." As he started off, she picked up the first aid kit and took out some bandages. "This kit is sure heavy on bandages and sutures – I take it you bleed a lot?" She smiled and pulled out an epi-pen and showed it to Dean. "Just in case there are bees underground. For Sam?" He nodded. She set it back in the kit and pulled the wrapping to one side to reveal sodden bandages. "I'm not sure these are helping that much" and pulled off the first one. Dean heard her hiss.

"Infected?" Dean leaned back and closed his eyes, only to sneeze.

"I think so. The thing did this too?"

"The first one did the leg. I, ah, was dealing with that one when number two showed up. That's the one that got my chest."

She dabbed some antibiotic cream on the slash and put a new bandage carefully over it. She looked up. "My arms don't look anything like this. We'll hope your chest doesn't look like this in a couple of hours. But these need stitches and so do the lacerations on your chest and stomach". She bent down again and quickly replaced the rest of the bandages and wrapped his leg. "What were they?"

"Skunk Apes, it's a kind of sasquatch. Only in Florida. Travel by water. Eat people."

"Oh come on, a sasquatch – you mean a big foot?" She started to rewrap his leg as Adam paced back counting out loud. "That's just a hoax, a guy in a fur suit. You can see the zipper in that picture."

"I don't know about what's in the picture you saw, but that doesn't mean the two here were fake. I know what I saw. What did you see when it grabbed you and Adam?" She frowned. "Was it seven foot tall, covered in fur, and walked on two feet?" He sighed, and twitched as another bandage was removed and replaced. They could both hear Adam coming back. He looked around him carefully. "Where's my gun?"

"In the pack. So that's why you aren't the Park Service. They wouldn't look here even if you told them, would they? Are they, the apes … dead?"

"Yeah, dead."

"How did you know what to do? How did you know where we were?"

"I kind of do this full time. I knew what to look for." He put his leg back down. "Hey, Adam, so what did you see – was the string OK? Anybody eat it?"

"No, the string's fine. See" – he held up his hand, striped with red dye from the twine. "It goes out from here then turns right. I could see it keep going as far as the flashlight went." He looked at his mom again then back at Dean. "Can we go now?"

"I'm raring to go, Bat Boy. Would you hand me my coat?"

Adam barked a laugh. "That's nicer than Weasleface!" but he held the coat up for Dean.

Jill wrapped up the used supplies as neatly as she could and folded them into the ruined T-shirt. She put that and the kit back in his duffle and closed it, but not before Dean snagged his Colt. She handed him a pill and a half bottle of water. He raised his eyebrows.

"That's not ibuprofen or Tylenol and that's all I'm going to take at this point." She continued to hold it out.

"You are in the middle of a severe allergic reaction to something in the cave, you have an infection in your leg, a fever, you've lost a lot of blood, and from what you said, you don't like enclosed spaces. Any one of those can cause reduced blood pressure, increased heart rate, and loss of consciousness. And your heart rate is already high and your breathing is strained. If you lose more blood, or even hyperventilate because you have claustrophobia, you could have a heart attack and die before we get 100 yards.

"And I'm worried about your allergic reaction, which you say is your first, right? If you have a more severe reaction to the allergen, which I'm afraid", she pulled some fur off of his shirt, "is Skunk Ape, it might be this bad because it scratched you. Maybe there's something toxic on its claws, like a bee sting." He still didn't reach for the pill. "Dean - it's a Tylenol 3. If I could I'd give you something much stronger. So shut up and take it, you need the sedating effects and some kind of pain management if you are going to be able to walk us out of here." She checked his expression, "What? Are you planning to operate any heavy machinery?"

"Don't argue with Mom, Dean, she's a _doctor_. And you can never win an argument with her. Dad says so."

He shrugged, accepted the pain killer, and drained the water. This was so not a good idea.


	8. In the middle of the Great Plains

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story however belongs to Merisha.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

The next day was Christmas Eve. Dean disappeared just after breakfast, promising to be right back, and Sam joined Jeremy and Jenny on the deck. He came back about two hours later and joined them at the table, bringing a mug of coffee from the kitchen with him. He handed Sam a bag. When he raised his eyebrows, Dean said "Just open it". Sam found a pair of swim trunks. Lurid green decorated with pink smiley faces. In his size. He held them up.

"Dude, you shouldn't have, and seriously I mean it. You _shouldn't_ have bought these." There was some laughter as the pattern became clear.

Dean shrugged and quirked up one side of his mouth, but all he said was, "Knock yourself out, kid". After a few minutes, he finished his coffee and returned inside.

"Doesn't he want to go with us to the beach?" Jenny asked.

He shrugged. "He's always good at finding something to do." Something Sam was being reminded of daily. Dean was always in motion, always doing something. It was when the usual things were done – Sam, the Impala, and the weapons fed, clean, tuned, and oiled – that he got into trouble. He'd once invented the best game for Bobby's junkyard. They'd played for hours, screaming and hollering, racing from one end of the yard to the other and damn if he'd been ahead when they'd had to quit. They didn't mean for the pile of cars to topple over, but Dad arrived and declared the game officially null, void, and extinct at that point. He gave them both a tremendous dressing down but Sam was too tired and happy to care. Even Bobby scolded them, which for Bobby was pretty remarkable. Dean had been pretty scarce for a couple of days after that, Sam remembered, and when he did show up he was so dirty he had to hose down outside before Bobby would even let him get in the shower. He'd have to remember to ask Dean about that.

Dean came back out in a T-shirt, sweatpants, and sneakers. "Going for a run – anyone want to go?" Getting only a series of groans and waves, he shrugged and headed toward the street.

Jenny watched him go. "Do you run with him sometimes?"

"Yeah, I do, but not today. I'll go change – if you're willing to be seen with this pair of trunks?" He held them with the tips of two fingers.

When Sam got to their room he found a bag on his bed. Opening it, he found a dozen gift cards from a chain coffee shop, not for a lot of money, enough maybe for one of his 'girly' lattes, and he had enough of them to give one to each of his friends. He also found a gift card for a slightly higher amount from an auto supply store, this with a note that read 'For Jeremy?' He hadn't even thought about having something in hand for his friends for Christmas. Much struck, he changed and headed downstairs.

Sam and Jenny had a long talk after a few hours on the beach. The house was quiet, the sun was shining and they were alone out by the pool. It was such a relief to talk with someone who knew and loved Jess. And he finally told someone about his plans, about looking at rings, about planning to ask Jess to marry him on Christmas. It was eating him up that she hadn't known that before she died. They both cried, and he felt half way normal for the first time in a long time. Dean was there, supported him, watched out for him, but Dean wouldn't cry with him – actually thinking about Dean crying with him make him chuckle. Still, the way he was wired, being with Jenny was like rain after a two month drought.

After a companionable silence, Jenny looked toward the house when she heard a noise. Sam cranked around but didn't see anything. "What?" She blushed and said she was looking to see if it was Dean. He asked her to fill him in on her family and what she might have heard from the Moore's, but as people started to return from the beach, her constant scanning for his brother was interrupting her train of thought and conversation. He ribbed her gently, and got up to leave, when she pulled him back to the chair, furiously blushing. This time when Sam looked over his shoulder, he saw Dean by the kitchen door. The look in Jenny's eyes when he turned back worried him.

"Hey, Jen, what, you're not serious about finding my brother attractive are you?"

"Serious – I'm breathing aren't I? We just had a really good time last night. I was hoping to see him later…" she smiled this time without blushing, "in my room."

Sam was trying not to be surprised. "Oh. Well we played pool for an hour or two after you went upstairs." He closed his eyes for a minute. "You know my brother, we, we are on the road most of the time. We hardly ever stay in the same place for more than a week."

"For his job, right? Sure, he told me that when I met him in Palo Alto. Is that why he never visited you at Stanford? Jess never did understand why he didn't come by. And I'm telling you Sam", and she glanced toward the house again, then turned to meet his eyes again, she said, "if he had come by, it would have been great for the rest of us." She looked at him. "You were off limits. But Dean would have been fair game."

Sam wasn't sure she understood what he was trying to say about his brother. "I'm just trying to tell you that Dean is, ah, foot loose. He keeps moving and he hooks up a lot, just for the short term, the really short term. I wouldn't want you to get…"

"I wasn't asking for advice or protection, Sam. But I get it - if someone talked about my sister to me this way, I might be kind of freaked and jealous too. I won't mention it again." This time she waved toward the house.

"Jealous? I promise you, I'm not jealous."

Sam stood and caught Dean's attention. Dean raised his eyebrows and shrugged, hands making a circle around him again. Sam nodded and Dean walked in their direction. He stopped a few feet from the table.

"I'm going to head out again in a few minutes – do you need something?"

Sam saw a few more people headed out to the pool. "Jenny and I are finished. Why don't I come with you?"

Jenny stood and said, "Maybe I could …" but just then Brit called to her. She smiled at them both, "You two go on. Maybe we can talk about dinner later?"

OOOOO

As they headed back toward the house, Dean asked him if he'd eaten. "They have the most amazing Cuban sandwiches in the kitchen and those, um, banana thingeys. I really think I'm starting to thaw, Sammy boy. We've been here", he checked his watch, "twenty-six and a half hours and nothing has bitten me on the ass." He raised an eyebrow, "Of course, there could be someone here who would like to do that later."

"TMI Dean, TMI. And the banana 'thingeys' are called plantains." Sam grabbed a sandwich and they went out the door. "Where are we going?"

"Kit couldn't beat me at pool so he's challenged me to a kite duel tomorrow. There's a kite shop open for another hour right down the beach road." They got in the car, and headed south. "You and I know he doesn't have a chance in hell", he said with a grin. "We were the ones that grew up huddled out in the middle of the Great Plains with nothing but twigs and rags, making little kites to sell by the side of the road…"

Sam smiled, "And matches, kites and matches, and barefoot. But you kept trying to sell my hair, you jerk."

"It had the potential to keep you in fruit salad for life. And it always grew back."

Sam was puzzled. "What is it with you and Kit anyway? I wouldn't have thought you would have anything in common. He's a Physics major."

"He's OK. He's just trying to turn this into a pissing contest between the pool and kites and of course, my awesome power over women. And besides, now I'm hitting him where it really hurts. You think pool and kites aren't physics? You just hit the balls and they accidentally fall into the pockets? And kites are all physics. Lift and drag co-efficients, entropy, wind speed, galactic stagnation," he smirked at Sam's reaction, "and that's just the wind." He pointed, "There's the shop."

Dean selected a kite and string and threw in a pair of neon green 'monster size' flip flops he said, handing them to Sam once they were back in the car. Dean held up the Aframian credit card. "I'm afraid Hector has just reached his limit." He spun the card out of the window and sped up. "And I liked being Armenian, you know?"

Sam didn't reply, in fact he clammed up and brooded until they were almost back to the house.

"Earth to Sam. You still in there, little brother?" Sam cleared his throat. Hell, he knew that wasn't a good sign.

"Aframian. You know what will happen when that card is reported for fraud, don't you?"

"I have a pretty good idea. That's why I threw it out the window." He pulled into the driveway and stopped the car.

"Any purchases made with it will be denied. Like gift cards bought with it."

"Sam, listen, I didn't.."

Sam opened the door and started to get out. "What if my friends tried to use them? I'm just glad I hadn't given them out before I knew."

"What the hell? First you think I'm some kind of Cro-Magnan who can't dress, then you don't want me talking to a hot girl practically climbing into my pants, and now you think I found a way to embarrass your friends after we're gone? That's just super." Sam stood and slammed the door shut behind him. He didn't turn around. "Sam, will you fucking _listen_ to me? I didn't use the card to buy the presents for your friends. Hell, if you don't want them, return them. The receipts are in the bags." He got out of the car and Sam finally turned to face him over the roof.

"It never ceases to amaze me how stupid I became the minute you went to Stanford", he hissed through his teeth. "I paid cash for them, some of the cash I won in Valdosta, _College_ Boy." Dean cut his eyes toward the front door, and Sam instinctively looked as well – several of his friends were mute spectators to the scene they were acting out in Jeremy's driveway.

Dean dropped his voice and growled, "If you do return them, find a ride. I'm out of here." He dropped back in behind the wheel and put the car in reverse.

Sam ducked down, "No wait – just wait a minute will you? I'm sorry…"

"No. I'm going for a drive, a long drive. Find a bar. Something. I fucking hate Florida. I told you I didn't want to come here." He took his foot off the brake pedal and the car started to inch backwards, but he stopped the car again. He scrubbed his face, and taking a breath, looked up at Sam through the passenger window. "Merry Christmas, Sam. You'll be OK here – looks like Florida likes you. I'll see you tomorrow. And watch out for my stuff!"

The last Sam saw of him were the taillights as he turned at the nearest corner. Holding his head up, he walked toward his friends, not sure what he would say if someone asked.


	9. Look what I have for show and tell!

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveler. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story by prior arrangement belongs to Merisha.

ooooo January 2005 ooooo

Squinting at his watch, Dean kept trying to calculate how long he'd been underground and how much longer they might be walking to get out but no matter how hard he tried, he lost count of the time, and couldn't get the order of events right. He remembered he'd been down about 4 hours when he finally heard a noise, maybe another hour to find Adam, then the ape, no, the first ape before Adam, say another hour, two maybe tops. He sneezed a couple of times and stumbled right into something. The something turned out to be Jill, who turned to steady him. She looked a little fuzzy. Concerned he said, "You OK?"

"I'm fine, Dean, really. How are you holding up? Do you need to rest for a minute?"

"Nah, I can walk some more. Tryin' to figure how much longer before we get out. Do you know how long we've been walking?" He checked his flashlight and managed to shine it right into his face. "Prob'ly should put fresh batteries in these." She took his arm, led him to a largish rock, and pushed him down.

"Sit, stay." She turned her head, spotting Adam a few yards ahead. "Adam, come on back." Turning back to Dean, she checked her watch, shook it, and held it to her ear. "What does your watch say?"

He brought his wrist up, only to have her take his arm, and look at his watch. "OK, our watches agree. We've been walking for two hours. It's seven o'clock now so we started at five. Do you think that's AM or PM?" She put fresh batteries in her flashlight, then Adam's, and started on Dean's while Adam made circuits around them. Jill finally pulled Adam down to sit and handed him a water bottle and an antique oatmeal bar she found at the bottom of the duffle.

Dean scratched his chest until Jill knocked his hand away. "AM, gotta be AM. Still light when I left, then took me four five hours before I heard something that got me to you." He leaned his head back against the cave wall. "Then a whole lotta, um, _stuff_ happened", he corrected, cocking an eye at Adam, "and I got to you and I guess another hour, and then I was out for a while, but if we've been walking two hours, and this time, we know where we are going… on the way in, I had to keep checking for the fur. Maybe we are almost out." He shook his head and sneezed. "I can't believe I spent all night in a frickin' cave. Dad'll never believe me." He pointed vaguely and closed his eyes. "At least Sammy's here as a witness, right?"

"Come on, Dean, that's Adam, you remember?"

"They're both here?"

He felt her shake him a little, and said, "If we are almost out, I want to get the rest of the way. I want to see sunlight and feel warm and see my husband and eat something and sleep. Not necessarily in that order." She pulled him upright and he felt her tapping his cheek. "Open your eyes, Dean, and let's get out of here."

"Tol' you I shouldena taken that pill."

"It's not the pill. Just try to stay awake long enough for us to get outside, OK?"

He lurched forward, catching himself on the cave wall. "Awake it is."

OOOOO

When Adam saw daylight, he dropped the string and raced full tilt forward, yelling "Mom, Mom, we made it, we made it." Jill called after him, but he was long gone, whooping and screaming.

Dean had one arm against the cave wall, and the other on Jill's shoulders, and was doing the best he could to put no weight on her at all, just keep his balance, but she was still the one carrying the duffle. He couldn't even remember her taking it. He was limping pretty badly, but that was just the slashes and they would heal up with some stitches and antibiotics.

"Jill, before you go, could you write me a scrip for some kind of antibiotic for my leg?"

"I'll do better than that, Dean. I'm going to get you into a hospital, get you on antibiotics, pain killer, blood, saline, antihistamines and anything else I can think of to pump into you. And get you sewn up."

"No, no hospital, don't need it. Just some antibiotics. I can get some benedryl at a drug store. I'll be fine." She was arguing with him, but they had to go single file for a bit so he couldn't hear her and then they could both see sunlight. Jill ran ahead to pull Adam into a huge hug, and they both ran out of the cave. Dean took a huge breath, sneezed, he hoped for the last time, and limped after them.

It felt like a weight that had been pressing down on him since he went in the cave was lifted. The sun was out, blue sky visible, and he could breathe a little. And no rats - the day might turn out OK after all. Adam was racing around doing whatever kids do, piling something up by the cave entrance, climbing up and down the rope ladder, playing with the sand, and talking and talking about his Dad, and dinosaurs, and Skunk Apes. He was acting so freaking much like Sam it was like he had a Mini-Me. He kept looking up expecting to see his brother. 'Mind like a steel trap, Winchester.' Dean pointed at his pack by the rope ladder and limped toward it. "I've got more water and some power bars in there. Give me a minute, and I'll drive you home." He found a spot of sun by the wall and leaned back. "I just need a minute." He started to slide down the wall, his knees unwilling to hold him up. The sun felt warm and he was looking up at the blue sky when he thought it would be nice to close his eyes.

He woke up with a start when Jill pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Wha'cha doing? Don't need a hospital, be fine in a minute."

She said, "Calling my husband to come get us." She walked away with the map in her hand and his phone to her ear. He would have given a lot just to be able to close his eyes and rest, but if people were coming he'd better get up and get moving. It was slow going, but he stood, holding one arm across his chest and trying to keep all his weight on his right leg. He worked on slowing down his breathing and sneezed. Adam had looped up the hem of his shirt to make a pouch and was stuffing something into it. Maybe cattle horns – he had seen some when he first came down and Sam would've been all over them.

Adam yelled, "Dean! Look what I have for show and tell!" He'd always been an excitable little geek. The kid was coming at him full speed, shirt full of something, and he heard Jill yell Adam's name, but it was too late and he was back on the ground hard, air knocked out of him. He tried not to make a noise, but was pretty sure he groaned as he winced, because the kid had not only hit his chest crashing into him, but managed to step on his left leg as he fell. Adam was still saying something, so he opened his eyes a crack and saw what the kid was holding – he'd been filling his shirt full of ape fur and waved a handful right in his face right as Dean managed to gasp and wheeze in a lungful of air.

He rolled on his side and tried to ride it out, but between the sneezing and coughing, he couldn't seem to hold a breath of air long enough to do any good. His eyes were watering and he couldn't get them open very wide but he could see Sam backing away. He wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but right about then, his throat closed up and he couldn't get any air, not even to sneeze. He saw Jill grab something out of the first aid kit and run toward him. It felt like his heart was coming right out of his chest. Time and light slipped away with his air, tunneling his vision. He was rolled on his back and thought someone hit him, but all he could see was Jill's face and night falling behind her.

"Breathe damn it, Dean, breathe right now or so help me, I'll kill you!" She started CPR, hell he knew what that looked and felt like. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. He heard her say, "Adam, just like we practiced." He felt someone move his head and pull his chin up a little bit, and then she said "Now Adam" and he felt air push into his lungs. "Breathe, Dean, or I'll take your gun and shoot you … right in front of Sam, I swear to God!" He couldn't do anything else - he struggled until he took a breath.

Jill stopped compressions and watched him breathe for a few moments. "Damn you, Dean, you scared me. Just lay there while I try to stop the bleeding."

He gulped in more air. His eyes were so swollen he could barely open then, but was able to create a slit to see through. He whispered, "It wasn't your fault, Sam." Dean allowed his eyes to close. Jill picked up his arm, and held his wrist, obviously taking his pulse. He tried to pull his arm away. "I'm fine." She didn't reply, just put his arm back down which allowed him to drift a bit, just glad to take air in and push it out. Things were going in and out of focus and he wasn't sure how long he'd been down.

The noise woke him. It was deafening, and when he cracked his eyes open he saw people and uniforms and they were shouting questions at him, sticking things on him, putting an oxygen mask on his face. He felt the prick of an IV on his hand and knew for sure she'd called 911. He couldn't remember if he had a viable insurance card. He tried to get his wallet, but Jill grabbed him.

"Stop moving. What are you looking for?" She was shouting over the noise, and lifted the mask to hear him.

"'Surance, lookin' for card…" The mask was back on his face, and the EMT guys strapped his arms down.

"It's covered, its all covered. You won't have to pay anything. Understand?"

He didn't, but nodded. "What's all the noise?" He had to repeat it when he felt the mask lift away from his face and Jill put her ear right by his mouth.

"The rescue chopper", she shouted, "it's going to airlift us out of here and to the hospital. My husband's going to meet us there."

She kept talking but he didn't hear anything past 'chopper'. He shook his head no, struggling desperately to move out from under the restraints until she moved the mask again.

"Dean, you have to hold still! What's the matter?"

"No helicopter, ambulance. Jill, please, no chopper!"

She looked at him intently, shouted to one of the EMT guys who signaled back, "Don't tell me you're afraid of flying?"


	10. Tell tales out of school

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveller. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story however belongs to Merisha and she'll fight you for it.

A/N to Adder574: You pegged this chapter two days before I posted it. You know what I mean.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

About mid-morning Christmas Day Dean still hadn't returned. Sam was on his fourth or fifth cup of coffee when Caleb called, the ring almost making him fall off his chair. While he'd been eager to talk to Caleb a few days before, he was bitterly disappointed that the call wasn't from his brother. He went to their bedroom and closed the door, before getting Dad's journal out of his bag.

"I haven't seen your father, Sam, but you know I'd have called you if I knew anything. I promised Dean too."

"I know Caleb, it's just hard not to ask. I was actually hoping to have a chance to see what you remembered about the hunt in Florida two years ago with Dad."

"Dean's sitting right next to you, isn't he? Why don't you ask him?"

"Well, Dad didn't tell Dean very much about the hunts he went on with you. We're in Florida now and I was curious if you knew what Dad meant when he wrote 'u-pan'? We don't have any idea."

"U-pan? He always was a close mouthed bastard. Nothing much to tell, kid. We hunted a copper cat in Cat Island Swamp. Can you believe it – _Cat_ Island. And Dean was so sure he'd find a Black Dog on Dog Island, god, he loves stuff like that. And those motels he finds – I almost got impaled in one of those rooms and Dean and your father laughed so hard I thought they would both have aneurisms. Funny it turned out that John and I were the ones who got to play the name game. I was real sorry about what had happened to Dean 'cause of that hunt though. He was still in rough shape when I saw him next and that was weeks later."

Sam was surfing the internet, googling copper cat, when he found the reference. "Because of what? And a 'u-pan' is an … underwater panther? What the hell is that?"

"Yeah, one of them killed a student on a nature trip in the swamp. Not too sure what they are, local lore is that they're almost gods or monsters or both. They're usually reclusive, heck, we thought they were extinct truthfully after all the research we did, but then we thought Skunk Apes were vegetarians until those two Dean found took turns ripping him up."

"Ripped him up?"

"Well, yeah, in the cave in Ocala. Sam, why aren't you asking Dean this?"

A cave? "Dean won't really tell me much – just says its ancient history, but we're here now and he drove off last night and… look I'm not trying to get you to break a confidence, I'm just trying to find out what happened. Dean's been on edge since we got here."

"I don't want to tell tales out of school. There must be a reason Dean didn't tell you but I can't see how this would hurt you or them for your knowing now. Your Dad and I checked a couple of places while Dean was in Ocala, and were planning to meet up with him in Cocoa Beach. Dean didn't mention he'd been sliced and diced, because he's as hard headed an ass as your father, so your Daddy and I didn't think anything about moving further out. John got an emergency message of some kind and found Dean about dead out by Cape Canaveral. Turns out there must have been two of cats because one of them got a hold of Dean. All we could figure is that it tracked me and your Dad to the motel in Cocoa Beach and attacked Dean when he came out of our room. You know, kind of a wrong time wrong place thing." He took a breath. "That's when John got the details on the apes too."

"So Dean was attacked by Apes in Ocala and _then_ an underwater panther in Cocoa Beach? And he was by himself? And how come there's two of everything here?" No wonder he thinks Florida is out to get him.

"Don't forget the chupacabra. Not sure it helps, but there were plenty more than two of those. Your Dad was ready to set the whole state on fire, I'm telling you. As soon as he knew what attacked Dean, he went back to Cat Island but couldn't find the sucker. Probably a good thing in a way, because he was by himself. And damn you wouldn't believe what you have to do to kill one of those things, Sam. Anyway, right after the swamp, John and I headed for Georgia. I saw Dean again about four weeks later." Sam heard some noise in the background. Caleb said, "Sam, look, have to go. You'll be the first person I call if I see hide or hair of John."

After Caleb disconnected, Sam tried to make some connections between what he remembered of the Florida trip and what Caleb was saying. So far they weren't matching up. He'd had plenty of time to try to remember the phone calls he'd gotten from Dean during that trip. He remembered Dean calling shitfaced drunk when he'd set up the conference call. He still remembered how angry he'd been about that. And when he got him at the beach, he had been drunk again, talking about blondes and bikinis, hadn't he? That had to be the emergency Caleb mentioned. So he wasn't drunk, he'd been attacked. Twice. No wonder Dean had been pissed at him in Valdosta but how the hell was he supposed to know Dean had been hurt? Dean said he was drunk, didn't he?

He did his best not to worry about his brother for most of Christmas Day, and gladly upheld the Winchester honor in the kite challenge. Funny, he never knew how competitive Kit was, or how sore a loser he could be until he saw him interact with his brother. Kit didn't take losing to Sam well either. Sam started thinking about some other things he could challenge Kit to and found himself turning to laugh about it with Dean. He drank eggnog, avoided the mojitos, exchanged gifts, the whole time feeling anxious but not frantic. There were a few inquiries, and Jenny stuck pretty close to him, but he brushed them off with assurances that Dean was always fine, and would be back soon. Despite that, before he went to bed, he hacked into his brother's cell phone account, only to discover that the built-in GPS chip had no report of a current signal. Dean just didn't turn off his cell phone. He didn't sleep well at all that night.

The next morning Dean's phone was still going straight to voice mail so he borrowed a car from Jeremy's family and headed north up the 1A checking for the Impala at diners and bars, even driving through the parking lots of some of a few motels. He'd gone north as far as Atlantic Beach before turning west, and followed Route 1 south and east back still scanning for the Impala. He was sure Dean would have returned by the time he returned but was bitterly disappointed when after several hours he pulled back into Jeremy's driveway and still didn't see the Impala.

He contacted those of his Dad's friends that would answer the phone but none had heard from Dean or Dad since the last time he'd checked with them. He decided not to call Dad, it felt a little too much like tattling since Dean was probably holed up with an available girl in a comfortable bed for Christmas, and it wasn't like Dad would answer and wish him Season's Greetings. At least today, the 26th, was a Monday, and offices and police stations and morgues would start answering non emergency calls again.

By Wednesday afternoon, Sam was climbing the walls. He'd been scouring traffic accident reports, police logs, car impoundments, hospital admissions, and motel check-ins north of Ormond Beach all the way north and east through Georgia to coastal South Carolina and north and west to New Orleans. He'd tried Dean's cell countless times. A few of his friends left, but most were staying for New Year's. Jeremy offered to help in any way he could only to joke on Tuesday that his help appeared to consist of dragging Sam away from his laptop and phone a few times a day in order to force him to eat and see sunlight.

So when Jeremy came to the door, Sam was sure it was only to suggest he once again stand up and move just to avoid blood clots or blindness or something equally horrible which Jeremy assured him arose directly from spending too much time on a computer. He was on the phone checking hospitals between Brunswick and Savannah, and waved at the phone, saying, "I'm on hold".

Jeremy said, "Have you checked your email? Stanford's trying to find you."

Sam only checked his Stanford box once a week at most and he'd just spent a few days with almost anyone who might have sent him an email. He opened the account, scanning quickly, and found an email from Student Services posted on Monday. It was brief, just mentioned a family emergency, and gave him a name and phone number to call.

Without hesitating, he called the number, practically holding his breath until it was answered, and almost before a woman's voice said "Hello", he said, "This is Sam, Sam Winchester. Is this Jill McDevitt?"

OOOOO

He met Jill by the Information Desk in the "Medical Plaza" of the Cape Canaveral Hospital, a large open two story atrium style entrance, with a huge sky light and marble clad columns. He spotted a woman near the information desk, slightly turned from the doors, in conversation with someone in scrubs. It had to be Jill – she had dark hair, a white coat, and bright red clogs just like she promised on the phone. The top of her head barely reached his sternum when he stepped up behind her, clearing his throat slightly. She turned, and raised her head, unconsciously taking a step back, until she was looking in his face.

"My goodness. Are you Sam?"

"Yes, uh," seeing Jill McDermitt, MD, sewn onto the left pocket of her coat, "ma'am, I'm Sam. Can you take me to Dean?"

"I know you don't want to hear this, Sam, but you and I really have to talk before I take you to his room. Let's go to my office. And call me Jill." She started to steer him toward the elevators, but he stopped suddenly.

"You told me that he was going to be alright, not seriously hurt, why would I have to wait?" He took what even he knew sounded like a panicked breath, "Has something happened?"

"No Sam, nothing's happened, I promise Dean is still going to be fine." She tugged his arm, and got him moving, shepherding him onto the elevator and pushed the button for the sixth floor. "You remember I told you I'm not Dean's primary doctor, I'm an ER doc, right? I recognized him when he was brought into the emergency room here on Christmas."

"How do you know him?" He was relieved when the elevator door opened, letting him move freely. Jill pointed down the hallway to the left and he walked briskly, while Jill, startled ran after him.

"Just a minute, slow down will you?" She caught up to him, and turned him down a smaller corridor and then into a small office. Showing him a chair, she offered him coffee, and sat on a chair next to his.

He was so tense that he had to deliberately relax his muscles just to sit down. He accepted a mug, and repeated, "How do you know him?"

"Your brother saved my son and me two years ago. You know what Dean does full-time?"

"I don't think I've heard it said quite like that, but yes, I know. Dean, my dad, me, we all work the same job. I took a break from it when I went to Stanford." He rubbed his eyes and took a gulp of coffee. "What took you so long to reach me? My number is right in Dean's phone – it's the ICE number."

She stood, and opened a drawer in her desk, and handed him something in a baggie as she sat down. It looked like Dean's cell phone if it had exploded. "Oh." He had an image of what Dean might look like if the phone in his pocket looked this bad, and closed his eyes.

"I know what you're thinking Sam, but it's OK. The police said the phone was in his hand when he was hit." He felt his eyes widen – hit? She looked at his face. "A couple of guys here tried to access it, get it turned back on... but, it's pretty much a goner. Maybe showing you that wasn't such a good idea, huh? I need to start at the beginning. What do you know of his trip to Florida two years ago? Did he mention the cave in Ocala?"

"I heard something about it but really, Dean'd rather cut off his left nu … arm, than go in a cave. He's convinced they're full of giant man eating rats." He hesitated, not wanting to expose too many of Dean's foibles to outsiders. "I don't really know much about what he and Dad did here two years ago."

"My son and I were taken, dragged into a cave, while we were down from Wisconsin. My husband and I were visiting hospitals, interviewing for jobs. We were looking to move here to be closer to my husband's mother." She hesitated. "This is still hard to say out loud, but what grabbed us were creatures that I almost still don't believe were real."

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and said, "Sasquatches?"

"Dean called them Skunk Apes, said they were a special Florida version. I've looked them up since them. I couldn't tell you if they looked like the pictures you see on line, but their size, their smell – that's all real." She still had to look up to see his face, even sitting. "This is much harder than I thought. OK, Dean came into that cave and got us out. He killed both of them but was a wreck by the time we airlifted him to the hospital."

Sam's jaw sagged open. "He had to hate _that_."

"You two really are brothers – the same gift for understatement. Yeah, he did, but we saved his leg, and that's the last I saw of him until Sunday, Christmas. There was an accident out on A1", Sam sat straighter, "but he wasn't in it. He was brought in as a 'Good Samaritan'. The cops said he'd been first on the scene, called 911, and helped the MVA victims until the ambulances arrived. He was standing by the road, talking to the guys on the scene, and had just pulled out his phone when a rubber necking idiot clipped him before plowing into the victim's cars. We're pretty sure Dean's phone was run over."

"He was hit but you said he wasn't badly hurt?" Sam replayed images from some of those police video shows where people crashed into cars on the side of the road, sometimes running right into the police cruisers flashing lights and all.

"He was thrown onto his back, and right into the side of his car. He was totally out when they brought him in. His shoulders lost some skin, but the worst injury was the blow to his head and the concussion."

"He has a very hard head..."

"Don't I know it. The reason I needed to talk to you first was what has happened since he woke up. I'm not sure I can blame myself, but I might have precipitated it." She took a deep breath, "Sam, I was there when he woke up. He asked where he was and I told him Cape Canaveral. He kept telling me about something that attacked him outside his motel – jumped on him from the roof and bit him. I found some scars on his left scapula that could be a bite, but knowing what he does, I'm not sure what it is. But, Sam, the important thing you need to know is that when he saw me, it's like it convinced him that it was 2004. He's positive its January last year."

Sam almost stopped breathing. She continued, "It's not that uncommon for some amnesia like symptoms to occur after a concussion, and it usually clears up quickly, but it will help him to get better if there's someone who can remind him of current events. I haven't checked on him today because I'm afraid I just keep moving time backwards for him." She took a sip of her coffee and made a face. "This is cold – do you want some more?"

He shook his head. "I just really want to see Dean."


	11. You know, beaches and hot women

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveler an episode I've misspelled for 10 chapters. Sorry! My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

ooooo January 2004 ooooo

He was in a hospital; he knew that before his eyes opened. He took a deep breath through his nose and sighed in relief. He was still tired even though it felt like he'd been asleep for hours. Raising his head a little, he looked down and saw white bandages from his nipples to his belly button. He blinked in surprise – it looked like he'd been asleep more than a few hours. He noticed his left leg, also wrapped, raised up off the bed on a support. He felt lazy, warm and truthfully, a bit goofy. Maybe a lot goofy. He was on some primo painkiller.

He heard a noise, and rolled his head on the pillow to face the door. "Hey Jill. How'r you?" He yawned, and then smiled. "Sorry, sleepy. How's the kid? You two OK?"

"We are both fine thanks to you." She showed him his car keys before laying them and a piece of paper on the table next to the bed. "Here are your keys."

He couldn't help it – he grinned. He loved that car. "My girl", he crooned.

"Well, 'your girl' is in the hospital lot. The space number is on that piece of paper."

He had some trouble thinking that through. "How'd she get here all on her own?" He knew she was a good car but...

She looked at his chart before answering. "My husband drove her, it, here. I'm sure that's all he'll want to talk about when you meet him tomorrow."

He yawned again. "How did he know where she was? I, um, left her" he waved his hand, trailing tubes, toward the window, "out there, near the … hole, didn't I?" He inspected the IV leads in both arms.

"I saw the car from the helicopter, remember? I promise, this will make more sense to you when they cut back on the morphine."

Helicopter? Oh hell. He got flashes, like black and white photos, of feeling panicked and not being able to breathe, the feeling of pulling against the restraints, people yelling, and the heart stopping terror of the machine lurching under him. He left a cave in order to fly. He sucked in a breath and felt his heart racing.

Jill said, "Whoa, Dean, just relax. Just breathe slowly." She watched his monitors. He nodded and closed his eyes, willing his breathing to slow down, reminding himself that he was on a non moving hospital bed. When he opened his eyes again Jill had left. He dozed for a couple of hours and woke when a nurse came in and did something around the IV lines. He needed to do something … he needed to check on Sam. He couldn't remember exactly what happened, but he knew Sam had been scared.

He asked the nurse if she could find his cell phone. She brought the room phone instead and set it on the bed next to him. "Are you sure you want to make the call now – you'll probably fall asleep in just a few minutes".

"Important - have to check on Sam." He looked at the phone. "It's long distance. He's in, at, um, California."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to know you're going to be fine. Do you want me to call him for you?"

"No, got to talk to him." He looked at the phone and scrunched his eyes up trying to remember. "Number's on my cell – speed dial." He smiled. "Sorry. Can't remember."

"'Why don't I help you?" and soon Dean was holding the receiver to his ear while she tapped in the numbers.

"Thanks ah, Becky." She smiled and left, leaving the room just as Dean heard Sam's phone start to ring. To his astonishment, Sam answered. He said something like, "All right, we are all here, go ahead." Dean wasn't sure what that meant, but man, he had Sam on the phone.

"Sam, Sammy, are you OK? Tell me you're OK. I'm so glad you picked up, you never pick up – had to be a first time, huh?" Feeling the familiar warmth of morphine starting to soak into his brain again, he rushed ahead, "Still in Florida, home of chupu, chapa, um, no, cobras, hell, blood sucking fuglies and Sam sized sasquatches. I always knew you would be at home living in caves and eating people, Skunk Ape." He heard some noise and Sam saying kind of soft, 'Sorry, just a minute, I'm really sorry' to someone away from the phone. "Sam, I just wanted to make sure you were OK, 'cause you were really scared there for a while. I can be there in a couple of days." He heard a click and there was Sam, loud and clear.

"Dean! What are you doing? I'm in the middle of a class," then away from the phone, "I'll be right back – yeah, family stuff. I just need a moment." Back to Dean, "Where are you? Are you OK? Why aren't you calling from your cell?"

That was probably one too many questions. "I'm in Florida. I told you didn't I? She said long distance was OK." He thought for a couple of seconds, listening to Sam sigh, then said, "Not sure exactly where in Florida. Jill could tell me I guess…" He yawned, and muttered, "Just needed to make sure you were OK."

"Jill's your latest, huh? Well tell her to keep you off the phone. God, Dean, how stupid can you be? How you managed to pick today of all days to call and then to do it when you're totally wasted…" Dean heard him take a deep breath. "Don't call back today, you understand? And don't ever call me during the day. Just try, you idiot, to remember I'm in _California_."

"I'm not wasted, well maybe a little, but not booze, and Jill's a doctor, and she's married…" it took him a moment to realize that Sam had already hung up. Sam was really pissed, again, but he fell asleep before he could figure out why.

A few hours later when the morphine started to wear off, he'd managed to unhook himself from most of the equipment and get most of the way off the bed before the first nurse came in response to the tinny machine alarms. "Checking myself out AMA, need the stuff to sign." He raised his arms and picked at the tape on his left hand, tugging at the needle. "Gotta get the tubes out." She ducked out the door and came back with a few others.

One nurse very carefully lifted his feet and started to swing his legs back onto the bed. Another pushed his shoulders back, laying him back down. "We need you to lie down while we work on that", and he tried to argue, but the slight pressure she exerted was more than enough to keep him on the bed. A nurse put a thermometer in his mouth and held it there, just as Jill and another doctor came in. He tried to brush the nurse's arm away from him, but she held his arm down, Jill darting forward to grab the other.

"What are you thinking, Dean? You still have at least one more course of IV antibiotics before you can go." She gave his arm a shake. He spit out the thermometer and glared at her.

"I can take pills." He wished he didn't feel so damn tired. "AMA, checking out. Just write me some scrips and I'll be out of here."

Jill put the thermometer back in his mouth and glared at him. When it beeped, she checked the reading then set one of her hands on his left leg, and squeezed. She might as well have set it on fire. The pain was so bad his back arched up and away from the bed, and involuntary tears pooled in his eyes.

"What the hell was that for?" he gasped out. He looked over just as the doctor injected something into his IV. "Oh, crap, what did you just give me?"

"Just something to help you relax. I cannot stress how important it is that you remain in the hospital, Mr. Winchester, we need you to reconsider. We are trying to preserve your leg. Oral antibiotics won't be as effective."

Jill took his arm again. "Are you going to try and walk out of here on that? Drive? Your leg is infected, Dean, badly. Your temperature is over 103. We are seeing a reaction on this leg that isn't appearing in the lacerations on your chest or my arms. Give me seventy-two hours before you leave. Can you do that?"

"Twenty-four."

"Forty-eight."

Whatever was in that shot was starting to make his head feel like lead. The room got blurry as he felt his eyes go out of focus, and his muscles started to relax. "'K, forty." Dean closed his eyes and lost interest in the staff for a few minutes. He felt someone changing the bandages on his leg and inspecting his chest. It was quiet when he opened his eyes again. No one was in the room but Jill.

"Dean – did you call your father?" He nodded, eyes drifting to the window. "Dean, can you look at me?" She pulled his head back toward her. "Where's your Dad now? Is he coming?"

He managed to shake his head, "No, won't come. Hmmm, meet Thursday."

"He won't come? Did you tell him what happened?" He couldn't answer, just tried to keep her in focus. "Did you call Sam?"

He nodded. "Screwed up. Doin' something, don't know why he answered." He licked his lips, and she gave him some water.

"Maybe if you call back?"

"Can't, he's at Stanford," he tried to say through a yawn. He felt sleep pulling him down. "Get me outta here. AMA. Gotta get to Cocoa Beach." As his eyes closed, he heard Jill say, "Forty-eight hours, Dean, I get forty-eight hours."

OOOOO

He was finally on his way Wednesday afternoon, following 441 most of the way, heading south and east and passing Orlando on the north. He dropped down to 528 to cross Merritt Island before taking a right and heading south on 1A to Cocoa Beach. Dad said he couldn't miss the motel and when Dean saw a building that looked like a couple of spaceships copulating on the side of the road, he knew why. The office of the 'Space Age' motel was done in 50's pastels, lucite, and chrome – just like a _Jetsons_ cartoon. He loved this motel. Dad had left a key at the desk for him and he shortly stepped into a room around the back of the building.

He was relieved not to see Dad's truck or Caleb's Jeep when he parked – he might have time to grab more sleep before they got back. Checking out of the hospital and swinging by to pick up his clothes at the hotel in Ocala had just about been enough for one day. He dropped his duffle on the closest bed, fished out his prescriptions, and walked to the bathroom for a glass of water. He promised Jill faithfully he'd finish the antibiotics – he was pretty sure she'd said something about his leg falling off if he didn't. He glanced around, a little puzzled, as he swallowed the pill. He didn't see his Dad's kit, and checking the tub, none of Caleb's scalp treatments.

He stepped out into the room and confirmed that there was nothing of his Dad's in there – the place had been cleaned out except for a note. Dean: 34.02, -84.36. Coordinates? Crap – his Dad had left already? He scrubbed his face and fished out his cell and set it up in the charger.

An argument in the parking lot jerked him awake just before 10 PM. He'd managed to get his boots off but was wearing everything else. He didn't even remember lying down. He ran a hand through his hair, yawning, before checking his phone. He had one message and a missed call from Sam. The message was from Dad, to tell him that he and Caleb had a call about a hunt and had headed out that morning. He wasn't sure if they would come back Wednesday night or not. He hoped Dean had enjoyed his vacation and spelunking expedition, and expected him 'at the top of your game' Monday in Georgia. He rubbed his eyes. Maybe if they stayed south for a while Dad would forego the whole Taj Mahal ice sculpture. Not that he wouldn't find something else, but at least this time maybe he could keep his nuts warm.

He threw the phone on the other bed, fell back on the pillows, and groaned loud and long. It would be easier if he just ran his head into the wall. Dad was clearly not coming back, leaving him to follow along like a dog called to heel. And he'd do it, he always did. Arf.

When he tried Sam's number it went straight to voice mail - always better than listening to it ring first knowing Sam was watching the call roll over. "Sam, look, I'm not sure what happened a few days ago, but sorry for screwing up whatever you had going on. I was a little out of it but, um, Florida you know, beaches and hot women. Oranges." He stretched his back and shoulders. The last thing Sam wanted to hear about was a freaking hunt or a hospital. "Hope you weren't calling to yell at me. I'd been … worried about you is all. Hope you are out on a hot date, or just a date, because bro, really, you are old enough to hold someone's hand in public." He thought for a second, then added, "Hey, I'm in Cocoa Beach – remember how hot Barbara Eden was in that little harem outfit in _I Dream of Jeannie_?"

He heaved himself up and got into the bathroom, undressed and showered. His leg and chest both looked slightly pink but not inflamed. He poked a cut on his stomach experimentally. Not too bad. His leg looked much better – he gingerly touched one of the cuts on his calf. He pulled on boxers and a T-shirt, took his next dose of antibiotics, and a painkiller before going back to sleep. The next thing he was aware of was someone knocking on the door. He glanced at the room clock, 7 AM, and damn if the clock wasn't shaped like a little robot or something, then reached over to turn on the spaceship lamp. The lampshade had little moons and astronauts on it. He'd have to hand it to Dad when he saw him next – this was a great motel.

"All right, hold your horses, I'm coming." He pulled on his jeans and a shirt, and holding his pistol behind him opened the door. "What?" It was the motel manager regretfully telling Dean that he'd run Dad's card for the last three nights, and it had been denied. He wanted three night's payment, in cash, or, he assured Dean sincerely, he'd even more regretfully have to call the police and have Dean arrested. It cleaned out his wallet, his pocket, and the emergency forty dollars in his duffle, but Dean made the payment. When the manager then suggested that he remove himself from the property immediately, Dean looked down at him and took a step forward. The manager moved backwards. "I'll be out of here by Noon', he snarled, slamming the door shut.

He was packed up and ready to go a little before time. The room door opened onto the sound side of the barrier island, giving him a view west through palm trees and across water to the mainland of Florida. There was no one around – he glanced left and right, not seeing a soul and felt a little shiver run up his spine. It was absolutely still, no breeze, no sound, it was almost as if the ocean had frozen solid. He carefully set his duffle down, and put his hand on the Colt's handle before stepping outside, pulling the door closed behind him. Still nothing. He took two steps toward the car when something impossibly heavy landed on his head and shoulders, slamming him into the pavement, pushing the air in his lungs out, and sudden pain flared across his back.


	12. His maniacal big brother

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveler. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

"I'll take you to his room. I'm sure he'll be fine now that you are here. He talked about you all the time you know. I'm glad I remembered that he said you were at Stanford." She put a framed picture in his hand. "Dean kept thinking my son looked like you at the same age." She pointed, "That's Adam of course." She looked at him searchingly. "The hair is the same", she laughed, "but I can't imagine my son being as tall as you." She smiled, and he tried not to blush as he gave the picture back.

"Is your Dad coming too? Dean gave me his number and said he was in Florida." He shook his head. She stood up, "He was asking for him. Your Dad must have been with him the last time he was here but I haven't found the records yet. I'm so glad you could get here – were you in California?"

"I left Stanford two months ago. I was, we, well Dean and I are traveling together. We were in Ormond Beach staying with a friend of mine when this happened." He thought for a minute. He had no idea what name Dean or his Dad might have used two years ago but he knew when. "He would have been here in January 2004, about mid-month. Maybe that will help you find him. He won't be under Winchester."

As they walked, she put her hand on his arm. "So right after I last saw him. I'll keep looking. Sam - he thinks you're at Stanford. And that you don't want to talk to him. He didn't want me to call you at all. I called the school without his consent." She stopped outside room 615, and quietly said, "I won't come in with you. I'll let Dr. Williams know you're here."

He touched her arm as she started to step away. "I can't thank you enough for taking care of Dean and for finding me."

"You're welcome, Sam, but we owe him. It's not a problem."

"Oh, wait. I almost forgot. Do you know where his car is? Was it damaged?"

"His head actually dented the rear quarter panel. It's already fixed and my husband drove it to our house. He'd love to bring it here when you're ready, or I can bring you to it. Oh, and Sam," she glanced up and down the hall, then leaned in and said, "We're first cousins, mother's side. Immediate family members are treated gratis." She walked briskly down the hall and turned toward the elevators. Sam turned and entered the room, and rounded the curtain to see his brother. He walked up to the bed, and shook his brother's arm gently. "Dean, hey, Dean, wake up."

Dean's eyes opened slowly. "Hey, dude, how are you feeling?" He watched as Dean focused in on him, expressions flickering over his face. He'd been better at reading Dean before Stanford. Sometimes now he was totally opaque, but Sam was able to read surprise, the start of a smile, and then wary confusion.

"Sam? What are you doing here?"

"Hey Dean, sorry it took me so long to find you. I was in Ormond Beach when I got the news you were here." He touched Dean's arm lightly. "How are you feeling? The doc said you have one hell of a concussion."

Dean started to shake his head, but winced when it moved. "Concussion? No, I", he paused, clearly trying to think, "that thing, it landed on my head, but…" He touched his left shoulder with his right hand. Sam recognized the gesture from Valdosta. "It's my back. It's nothing. I'll be out of here today". He looked at Sam a little blearily. "Dad will be here any minute, Sam."

"I don't think Dad's in Florida right now. The last place we heard from him was Jericho, in Cali, remember?" Dean was staring at him like he had two heads. "Dean, the doctor said the concussion was giving you some date problems. It's December 28, 2005. We had an argument on Christmas Eve and I haven't seen you since. I've been looking for you for three days just to apologize." He smiled but Dean was still looking at him suspiciously. "I wasn't in California, I was just a bit north of here. Do you remember Jeremy? We are staying at his house in Ormond Beach. Can you remember why you headed south on Christmas Eve? I was sure you were leaving the state."

"What? I was in Ocala, and then … I went to the beach, I was going back to the beach, I think." He rubbed his eyes. "Man, nothing's clear. 2005? There's no way in hell I would come back here – all I'm trying to do is get out. Why were you in Ormond Beach? Your classes have already started …" He swallowed and quietly said, "And you aren't talking to me. How did you know I was here?"

"Jill reached me. But, not talking to you? I never stopped talking to you. I'm not going to Stanford right now, remember? I left two months ago after… after you came. We were in Ormond Beach together for Christmas." Sam looked around and saw what appeared to be an almost comfortable chair. He pulled it up to the side of the bed, and sat down. "We got that black dog in Valdosta before I talked you into coming to Florida. And I'm sorry now for that too."

Dean was shaking his head, and closed his eyes. "Black dog? I don't remember. But Dad might come ... he was going to check..." He looked hard at Sam. "Did you say you _left_ Stanford? Two months ago? I'd've noticed if you dropped out of school."

"It's the concussion, Dean. The doctor said things might be rough for a bit. Don't worry, it'll come back to you. But bro, try to remember, you stopped calling me two years ago, not the other way around."

"I was just doing what you wanted me to do …." He was blinking slowly, taking longer each time to open his eyes. "You blocked my number."

"I what? What I wanted? You were …" He stopped, looking again at Dean. "We'll figure this out later, I promise. You should go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. Try to remember that right now, you are in the hospital because", Dean gestured again toward his back, "not because of the bite on your back, that's two years old. You were clipped by a car after you stopped to help at an accident. You have a concussion."

Dean's eyes slipped shut. He muttered, "'K, we'll talk later. Glad you came, Sammy."

"I'm glad I found you." He heard a noise on the other side of the curtain. Glancing at Dean, he stood, and pulled the curtain aside just as a woman in a white coat took a step forward. "Have you been here long? I thought I heard something a minute ago. I'm Sam Winchester." He took her arm and moved her away from the bed. "He's just gone back to sleep, um" reading her coat, "Dr. Williams. Let's talk in the hallway." He closed the door behind him.

"I didn't want to interrupt you. Sam, can I call you Sam?" Without waiting for an answer, "I'm Dean's physician. I understand you spoke to Dr. McDevitt already?" He nodded. "I'm glad you're here – he really needs friends and family around him – but I'm surprised too. He was quite clear that you wouldn't come."

"The concussion has made my brother a little confused. I've actually been traveling with him for the last two months and", he stopped to take a deep breath, "and what he said is based on a misunderstanding, two years out of date." When she didn't reply, he continued. "What can you tell me about the severity of his head injury? This happened Sunday morning, early, right, and he's still pretty well out of it. He couldn't even stay awake five minutes."

"He is improving I promise. The MRI and the CAT scans we ran Sunday showed no bleeding or swelling and no underlying physical damage to the brain. He should recover completely, however his confusion on the date, and his worry about an injury to his back, are most alarming. There is a scar there yes, but he says some kind of large cat dropped on him outside his motel." She consulted a chart. "I've called in a psych consult for this afternoon to make sure that this isn't some underlying form of dementia."

"That won't be necessary, Doctor, although I appreciate your thoroughness. Dean doesn't have any problems with mental instability." He tried not to smile too much at that. "Is he still in a lot of pain?"

"Sam, I feel it necessary to tell you that this is for his own protection and yours. He could be…"

He was incredulous. "His own protection? He was hit by a car and has a concussion." He stopped, and cleared his throat. Dean really had to be out of it if he talked about a hunt to a civilian. Starting again, he said, "He's not making that up, he just has some of the details mixed. Dean was injured by a big cat two years ago, of course not outside of a motel." He smiled winningly, thinking quickly. "A friend of my father's owns some big cats, and during a trip there Dean was bitten by a 'pet' cougar." He touched her arm, and did his best to radiate sincerity, allowing his eyes to brim with emotion, "We are so grateful that my brother recovered without any permanent damage. The fact that this accident brought those memories back must be unsettling to him. And it's such a comfort to have Jill here to help. We're very close." OK, that might have been a little over the top. "You know he was the first person to arrive after the accident, don't you? To think someone just trying to help was hurt by a careless driver." He shook his head, still smiling, silently urging her to agree.

She looked down at the chart. "Well, I don't see any reason that it has to take place today. If your brother begins to recover his memory, there would be no reason to continue. But if he insists on some sort of attack outside of a hotel, we'll have to reconsider." She looked back up at Sam, "Now about his other injuries."

The car had clipped Dean's side, wrenching his back and severely bruising his right leg from his hip to his knee before skidding him headfirst into the Impala, but everything else was just as Jill had told him. He excused himself and went back in the room, closing the door behind him, and opened the curtain to keep the door in view. He resettled himself in the chair next to Dean's bed before calling Jeremy. If the doctor decided to come in unannounced again, he'd see her.

OOOOO

Jill peeked in later that night. Dean was sound asleep, having had a dose of painkillers about an hour before. She brought in a chair and a medical records file. She stepped to Dean's bed and checked his briefly. "Can we talk in the room without bothering him?"

Sam nodded. "We should be fine for at least another hour." He picked up the folder and checked the name – Brian Cole. He glanced through it briefly before handing it to her as she sat down. "Are you sure this is Dean?"

"The timing is right, reported dog bite, brought in by his father... height, weight, hair and eye color – it has to be him. I can't believe what I'm reading. He'd only left Ocala the day before he was brought into the ER here." She pulled started leafing through the papers. "Here are the wounds I treated on his chest and left leg", she said, showing him a page describing the patient's prior condition. "It can only be Dean." She looked up at Sam. "His injuries from the Skunk Ape were healing. It's the symptoms upon admittance that just confound me. The bite was bad enough, but surgery on that had to be delayed for over 24 hours while they treated for minor heat stroke, dehydration, blood loss, infection..." she rubbed her forehead. "How he could have gotten in such bad shape in such a short time?"

Sam winced. "A leftover from a hunt got Dean, something Dad didn't kill." He was remembering a phone call to Dean and his conversation with Caleb. Jill looked at him questioningly. "I probably owe my brother my life a dozen times over but we've been apart more than four years. One of the reasons I had to leave, I had to go to college, was to stop hunting the things Dad and Dean do, to stop being a participant, a witness, even the cause of Dean's ... injuries, hurts. He was always trying to protect me. God, the thing that scared me the most is that he would die in front of me." He breathed deeply through his nose. "Once I was in school, he never told me if he was hurt, or injured. When I talked to him that day, I thought he was coming off a bender. At least I got Dad to him. I didn't hear from Dean again after that so I never knew what happened."

"You couldn't have known…"

"No, I should have known. If we'd talked like brothers I would have known."

Jill watched him for a moment before she continued. "If you're assigning blame, save some for me. He said he was going to meet up with your father but I never thought to check up on him. He promised he'd call if he needed anything." She looked toward the darkened room windows. "And me and my family – we would have done anything for him, Sam, anything." She handed him a sheaf of papers and scanned the remaining papers in her hand. "According to this, your father brought him in but left after a few hours. He never came back – although he did call in for a status report the next day. Oh hell. I would have come, Adam and my husband, we could have come to see him. I interviewed for a job here before he was released."

"Dad left him?" He took some of the papers from Jill and scanned them. "Dad would never leave us in the hospital." He leaned back and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "And Dean didn't call me – he thought I'd blocked his number. Probably tired of me calling him a drunk too."

"Why did he think you blocked his number?"

He had to wait a few minutes before he could answer. You tell strangers things you never tell people you know. Except this wasn't a stranger, this was someone his maniacal big brother saved. And she remembered him, hell, she liked him. Felt she owed him. Sam scrubbed his face. No one ever liked their father. Except Dean.

"Just a misunderstanding, I never did but I wasn't talking to him either. Dean didn't want me to go to school, not sure he told you. But he didn't try to stop me, and he didn't let Dad stop me. He would call me and I wouldn't pick up. All he wanted was to shoot the breeze for a few minutes. But I so proud of being in college, proud of getting away..." After a few minutes, he quietly added, "He never told me about what he and Dad were doing, not once. He knew it'd piss me off. He practically raised me, he was just a kid, and he had to bring me up, but once I got to college, I wouldn't talk to him." He took a shuddering breath. "I suck, don't I?"

Jill put a hand on his shoulder. "No, you don't, Sam. You made a hard decision and lived with it the best you knew how. Dean is so proud of you." After a few minutes in silence, both staring at anything but each other, they both looked up as Dean moved restlessly in the bed. "I should check him again."

Jill stood up and approached the bed. "Dean? Are you awake?" When she heard no reply, she checked his vitals and shown a penlight into his eyes. He turned his head away from the light, muttering, but didn't wake. "Just do your best to keep him here in 2005, OK?"

"I will." After Jill left, Sam pulled his chair up to the bed, and settled himself for the night. There was no way he was going to leave his brother alone again in this benighted state.


	13. Like it was a supernatural spotted owl

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveler. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

ooooo January 2004 ooooo

It was like being skewered for a barbeque, punched through and through, and he could hear the squeak of something sliding over bone as the pressure increased – his vision went white. He could hear growling and breathy noises as his left shoulder turned into a knot of excruciating pain. He sucked in air and screamed. He wanted his body to move, to get away, to do something but his hands were shaking, he was shaking too much. Suddenly, whatever it was stopped and he felt the weight leave his back. He took a shuddering breath, and opened his eyes, trying again to get his body to move. He wasn't too surprised to see his right hand, white knuckled, locked down on the grip of his pistol 'because boy you never let go of your weapon', and over the years that lesson had been drilled into him with all the ferocity of this attack.

He moved his eyes and looked up and saw … something. The creature almost made his eyes hurt – it was impossible, incomprehensible, all muscles, fur, snake scales, jaws, teeth, horns, and brilliantly colored feathers lifted up in a mantle around its head – but mostly it was panther. The combination should have been bizarre and ugly, but instead it was savage and beautiful and silently menacing in the same way tigers in the zoo are when you catch their eyes. This thing showed the same cool indifference to him, granting him no individuality, not recognizing him as anything other than prey. It was terrifying.

It was so outside of anything he'd ever hunted, he wasn't sure at first what to do. Kill it? With what? He glanced at his surely useless gun. Even if he knew how to kill it, it would be like killing a work of art. It was primal and magnificent and wild and he suddenly wasn't sure he could find more adjectives before it fucking killed him. He propped himself up on his right arm and shouted and waved at it, hoping beyond hope that it would leave, get spooked and run like a wild animal. It didn't run, it wasn't, but it didn't move toward him either, just fastened its burning blank eyes on him. It could have finished him, it still could and god he knew he wasn't going to be able to do anything to stop it.

He got his knees underneath him, and used the Impala's hood to drag himself up, letting the car hold him upright at he dragged himself further from the cat. He needed the car between it and him. Steel and fluorocarbons, plastic and rubber, manmade, processed, top of the food chain stuff to keep him centered in the face of that … thing. He felt blood dripping down his back and his head was pounding. As he slowly, oh so slowly, moved away, two thoughts worked their slow way up to his consciousness – 'what the hell was it about Florida' and 'someone must have heard _that'_. He froze for a terrifying few seconds when it started to move again, yawning, and stretching, like someone's tabby, except for the eyes still drilling into him. He hoped he could make it to the trunk to find something that might help before it ate him. Maybe he should just get into the trunk and hope this thing couldn't bite through metal.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and watched as the cat started to casually move away toward a stand of palm trees and shrubs between the hotel and the water. It looked almost fluid, unhurried, out for a stroll, and Dean figured, it was exactly that. He wasn't a threat. He staggered after it, hoping no one was on the beach. Just as he made it to the edge of the trees, he saw the cat slip into the water and disappear. The beach was deserted.

He was still alone when he aimed back for the car. His back was on fire. He was glad it got away, strike that, glad it stopped attacking him. Even if he did know how to kill something like that it would have been like killing a bald eagle, or a bottlenose dolphin, like it was a supernatural spotted owl or something. Sam would like that – an endangered monster. Dad would kill him when he found out it got away, kill him and then bring him back from the dead and make him tow the Impala with his nostril, but it was worth it just to see it. He got his duffle and gun in the trunk and grabbed some towels, before dragging himself over to open the driver's door. He put a towel on the seat and one over the back bench, before he finally allowed himself get in, sit down, slide his legs under the wheel and close the door. He put his head back, closed his eyes, and let his body go limp. At least he wasn't sneezing.

OOOOO

A noise woke him finally. Someone must be knocking on the room door again. He groaned and shifted a little feeling his skin pull away from his shirt. Something wasn't right. He pulled his head up and it fell forward, the rest of him following to thump bonelessly into the steering wheel. He was in the car. And he was burning up. There was someone talking and knocking on the car window and it was really starting to piss him off. He rolled his head until his right ear was on the steering wheel and cracked open his left eye. Squinting a bit at the blurry figure, he recognized the prick of a motel manager. He moved his left hand toward the door, but that made his shoulder wake up. Crap. He pushed himself off the steering wheel and moved his right hand over to the window crank, but the handle almost burnt his hand. He reached for the door handle and pushed the door open making the manager back up a few steps. "What?" Clearing his throat, he brought himself upright and ground out, "What? I'm out of the room aren't I?"

"Mr. Gilmore, what are you still doing here?"

He yawned and blinked at the sunlight. "Sleeping, pretty sure."

"I'm glad I came around to make sure the room was vacated. We have guests coming in and a drunk passed out in his car is not what I want them to see." Dean just stared at him. "You need to vacate the property or…" he looked carefully at Dean, "How long have you been in the car? Since checkout?"

Why did everyone think he was drunk? "Guess so." It was a million degrees in the car – the breeze reaching him now felt like cool water on his skin. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out and tried to read his watch. It looked like it might be 3 o'clock, check out was at Noon maybe, so about three hours. His head was pounding so badly he couldn't really tell. The sun was just starting to lower behind the stand of palms and the car was already in shade, or he'd probably feel worse. He hoped he'd stopped bleeding somewhere in there. He swung his legs around and tried to stand. The ground promptly started to tilt madly around him, and he doubled over as his stomach cramped. He tried to miss the guys shoes as he brought up everything left in his stomach, then helplessly continued to heave long after his stomach was empty.

He stood, falling back against the door frame, forcing a hissed exclamation as his left shoulder hit the car. He got his legs locked and said, "Not drunk. Just hot. Cramps or something." He pulled in a lungful of air. "Fine, now." He thought he'd have time to recover, but then the asshole noticed the blood on the walkway and craned to look in the car. When Dean turned back to check what the guy was seeing, he saw the blood soaked towels, then heard the guy gasp. Great – he'd turned his back and his shirt must be black with blood. Now the prick had his cell phone out and was threatening to call the police. Dean needed to get the hell out of Dodge. He got back in the car and maneuvered out of the parking lot, not even sure if he took a left or a right, just getting away, getting to some place cooler.

OOOOO

Now a phone was ringing. Fuck, he couldn't get a decent sleep no matter what he did. He opened his eyes and after a few seconds recognized the fabric lining the Impala's roof. OK, he was in the car, on his back. He struggled to sit up and made the mistake of trying to lever himself up by grabbing the back of the seat with his left hand. It was like fireworks going off, so bad that he fell back, hitting his shoulder on the seat, which reminded him all over again why his left arm hurt. He lay where he was and groaned. He used his right hand to grab the steering wheel and dragged himself up, and peered out the windshield. He wasn't sure why, but he was at the beach, looking out over the ocean. He was in the shade, all the windows were open and a breeze off the ocean cooled the car.

He had no idea where he was or how much time had gone by since the he'd left the Space Age motel. He only realized the phone had gone silent when it started to ring again. It was probably time to take another antibiotic. Maybe even a painkiller. He could ask whoever was on the phone what time it was. He answered without checking the display, "Dad, what time is it?"

"Dean?"

He rubbed his face. "Hey, Sam." Sam cleared his throat and lit into him, at full volumn. He had to actually hold the phone a little ways away from his ear. He tried to interrupt once, saying, "Look, man, I tried to apologize, I won't do it again..." but it was like pissing into the wind, useless and it came right back on him. After that he made 'uh-huh' noises at the phone until the kid wound down.

Dean didn't remember much about calling Sam, that conversation and the one about his leg were kind of lost in a fog of morphine, but he remembered that he'd called Sam a Skunk Ape, which was totally cool since he really deserved it right about now. Sam was talking about expecting another call and how Dean embarrassed him in front of his class… yada yada yada. Sam Winchester – giant fucking ray of sunshine. He sat up when he heard him say something about not calling during the day and not calling him drunk again or he'd block his number.

"Oh man, don't block my number…" but Sam was off again. And wasn't it funny that he didn't know until now that the only way to get the little fucker to actually call him back was to royally piss him off? Yeah, it was funny like that time he closed his hand in the Impala's trunk, or funny like being punished for that junkyard game. That kind of funny. Sorta like having a knife jammed in your eye. At least the game had been awesome. He closed his eyes and listened to the ocean. He came back when he heard Sam saying his name, like he'd said it a couple of times.

"You about done 'cause it's been real nice so far hearing from you."

"Yeah. I guess. Um, why did you want to know what time it is?"

"Can't, um, see my watch real well thas' all," he said absently as he tried to read the hands. "It's not too late is it?"

"Oh, for god's sake, too late for what? You're still drunk. Did you take any time at all to eat or sleep the last couple of days or just drink?"

"Pretty sure I'm not drunk, Sam, not sure…" He stared at the ocean. "Am I in California?"

"How would I know? How would I know what side of the country you're on?"

Dean had to think about that. "Could of driven maybe, last couple of days are kind of weird. I'm probably still in Florida. Crap – Sam, I think I hate Florida. There was this thing on my back…" He put a hand over his mouth. Too much. "I'm at the beach at least."

"Where's the sun? Is it in front of you over the ocean or behind you?"

"Can't see it."

"Then it's behind you right? You're looking at the Atlantic. It's about 6 PM your time."

"Fuck, I _am_ in Florida." He yawned, "Sam, gotta go. Dad's already goin' north, Georgia maybe, and I've got to get some sleep before I drive." He thought for a minute, "Is it still Thursday?"

"Dean, are you really all right? Why isn't Dad with you?"

"Nah, fine. Just thirsty. Dad had a job."

"Do you have any water?"

"Think so". He picked up a bottle from the seat next to him. He was smarter than he knew – he did something right before he passed out. There were some empties on the floor of the car. "Must have been lying on it." He had a memory from somewhere. "Can't drink, puke everything up. Missed the car though."

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Told you, Sam, not drunk. Be fine." He closed his eyes, and almost dropped the phone. He put it to his ear, then leaned to catch it between his head and the seat back. He almost couldn't feel his shoulder anymore. Yawning, he said, "You OK? How're classes?"

"I'm fine, they're fine too, Dean, just fine. Hey do you have the same phone you had when I left?"

"Think so. Is that hot girl you told me about still in your psych class?"

"Dean, there are hot girls in all of my classes. I'm going to college in California remember? Blonde, tan, bikinis. What's your account password? Is it still my birthday?"

"Course." He yawned again. "Really sleepy here, Sammy."

"Stay awake a bit longer, OK? And it's Sam. Sam. Say it after me, Sam." He heard him doing something in the background. "Are you on Cape Canaveral? Dean?"

"Canaveral? Was in Cocoa Beach."

He jerked awake when he heard Sam say "… blocked the phone, god damn it, he blocked the phone."

"Wha'? You gonna block my phone now? Said I was sorry." He tried to sit up and lost the phone down between the seat and the door. He tried to reach the phone, but the pain in his shoulder came right back took his breath away. He tried to breathe through it, but night fell and he felt himself slipping down the seat back, falling right after it into darkness.

Rough hands were shaking him. "Dean, what the hell, Dean, wake up." He knew those hands and that voice.

"Yes, sir." He blinked his eyes open. "Dad, what? I thought you were gone?"

"We weren't too far north when I got your text message."

Dad had gotten him upright and out of the car, pinning him with his hip against the rear door panel. He heard something hit the ground behind him and tried to turn his head, but all that did was make him want to throw up. "Gonna puke, let go." He ended up dry heaving, on his hands and knees. Dad picked up whatever was next to the car and put it in his pocket. He pulled Dean back to his feet, then turned him to touch his back. "Dad, stop!"

"What happened, Dean? This couldn't have happened in Ocala. What happened to your back?" Dean felt him cutting off his shirts with his knife.

"Motel in Cocoa Beach. Something bit me, it jumped on my head, like a big cat but.." He shook his head, "not, feathers." He almost screamed when his father started to assess the wound.

"I'm pretty sure I know what it was. How long ago did it bite you?" John turned him to look at the bandages on his chest.

"Morning, Noon, 'round there." He tried to push his Dad's hands away from his chest, but he pulled the bandages off anyway. "That was the cave thing – Skunk Ape, uh, number two. First one got my leg. All better now." Dad was looking at him. "I invited you to come." His Dad smiled a little.

"I remember, you didn't want to go to the lighthouse. So you went in that cave?"

"Yeah, got two people out. But I can't get any sleep. I fall asleep, people knock and wake me up, go to sleep again, people call. I'm really tired." He couldn't even hold up his head anymore so he let it drop as his legs gave out. "Gotta lie down." His Dad caught him.

"OK, Dean, I'm going to let you lie down in the truck. You and I have a date at the hospital."

"No, Dad, be fine. Just need to sleep."

"You aren't going to argue with me are you?"

"No sir, course not."

"Who called you?"

He breathed out "Sam" before he could stop himself. "Sam, Dad, Sam called."

Dad picked him up, one arm under his knees, the other behind his shoulders. He winced but it felt so good to finally just let go. "You're really strong, Dad."

"Yeah, kiddo, I know. Stay awake for me on the ride. You hear me, stay awake."


	14. He told them it was a dog

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveler. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

Every time he woke up it was to a headache and Sam looming over the bed. The third or fourth time he stopped being freaked out about it, since there he was, not in California anymore. And each time, he felt himself slipping back into his skin a little bit more. He woke up, feeling almost awake, and saw Sam working on his laptop. "What time…" he cleared his throat, "What time is it?"

Sam put the laptop to one side. "About Seven. How are you feeling?"

He made a so-so gesture. He tried to look toward the window but the pain made him wince. Sam handed him some water.

"Do you need something for your headache? The doctor said you could have something when you woke up."

He managed to get out "I'm fine" but even he had to admit it sounded more like a grunt than words. The headache really was bad. He rubbed his temple. Sam noticed, since he was hovering like some kind of emo vulture.

"I'll take that grunt to mean yes, please, I'd like something." He pushed the call button. "You know the concussion drill, Dean – your birthday, your favorite tree, ecru or eggshell?"

That was random. "What the hell - you sneezing? Ec-something? I know an eggshell when I see it." He waited patiently but Sam just grinned at him. "January 24th. And a favorite … tree? Hops isn't grown on trees is it, Mr. Sequoia?"

Sam huffed out a laugh. "One out of three, not too good. Try these – first fugly you killed, favorite skinwalker, today's date."

"Uh, werewolf. Man that was a blast. Black dog. January … no, you said December something." Sam was nodding. "I'm not sure but I think I lost some time. Or gained some." He looked around. "Did Dad come?" He rubbed his eyes. "He was going to check after the… he didn't come, did he?"

"It's December 28th, dude, try to remember, OK? And Dad? I don't think he did. He called the day after you were admitted but he didn't come back." He turned as a nurse came in and Sam asked for something for Dean's pain. She came back in with a couple of tablets and although Dean waved his hand at first, when Sam pressed him, he took them. "It won't knock me out will it? I'm having enough trouble staying awake."

"It's just acetaminophen – Tylenol. It shouldn't make you sleepy." She took his vitals, and checked his IV, and to his red faced discomfort, checked his catheter bag and changed it out before leaving.

He sighed just a little bit as he felt the painkiller start to work. His head wasn't great, but he still felt more alert than he had in a couple of days. Sam was staring at him intently.

"Dean, I talked to Caleb and to Jill. I know a little about what happened two years ago. Jill told me about the Skunk Apes and a cave. She said you had to be airlifted?"

"Yeah, sucked. I don't remember much of the ride. Adam thought it was better than Disney World. Why do you want to know? Just a hunt, I got a little sliced and diced." Sam watched him rub his hand on his chest absently.

"She said it was more than that."

"My leg and my chest but they're almost better. I think the stitches can come out…" This time he looked down at his chest and deliberately rubbed it. Looking puzzled, he lifted the hospital shirt and looked underneath. "Oh."

"It was two years ago. They're just scars now."

"Old news then." He moved his legs and tried to wiggle his toes. "Ouch, damn it, why does my leg still hurt if it was two years ago?"

"Your right leg was pretty banged up when the car clipped you."

"It was my left leg." He squinched up his face. "I know it was the left one." He looked at Sam suspiciously.

He laughed out loud. "You think I found a way to switch your legs around?" Dean's felt an answering smile crook up his mouth on one side. "Do you think you'll be alright if I lift the head of the bed?"

"I hope so because I'm getting sick of the ceiling." Sam found the buttons and the head of the bed up to about a forty five degree angle before he waved at him to stop. "That's enough. At least I can see the TV now."

"That isn't what I wanted you to see." Sam kept his eyes on Dean's face as he pulled back the blanket and sheet covering his right leg. He was a little surprised at the extent of the bruising. "The greens and yellows are starting to come in. They match your eyes." Dean didn't look up. "The doctor said the hit also wrenched your back around. Your lower back is probably sore too."

Dean closed his eyes. "Match my eyes? You gotta be kidding. And you're the girl talking about eggshell and shit. 1A - I was on 1A but I don't remember an accident. What about Jill?"

"She works here now. She was interviewing for jobs two years ago."

"How do you know Jill?" he said wide eyed.

"She got Stanford looking for me."

"Man, she's like a force of nature." He thought for a minute. "Where's the car?"

"At Jill's, and it's fine, the only thing that hit it was your head. Her husband is going to adopt it."

"Yeah, he tried to buy it last time." He closed his eyes for a minute. "Did you block my number?"

"No Dean. I never did". Dean tried to sit up a little bit but Sam easily pushed him back. "I've done my best to remember our calls that week. Do you remember me calling you when you were at the beach at Cape Canaveral – you said you were looking out at the ocean."

"Like it was yesterday actually – I thought it _was_ yesterday." He rubbed his eyes. "It was the last time we talked before … last time we talked."

"I wasn't planning to call you to yell, it's just that I knew something was wrong, you know? And then when I got you, I thought you were still drunk and I lost it."

"For the last time I wasn't drunk, then or before. And I didn't pay much attention to the yelling part."

"I know you weren't drunk now – I'm really sorry, Dean. But I knew something was wrong at least. I got the GPS coordinates from your phone."

"How'd you get the GPS?"

"It wasn't too hard, your password is always my birthday." He saw Dean's eyes start to droop. He touched his arm and Dean's pulled his eyes open. "Are you already sleepy? Stay with me a little longer." He made sure he had a clear view of the room entrance. He didn't want to be interrupted at this point. "I tried to text them to Dad, just the coordinates, but Dad had blocked my number."

"Dad? He'd never do that, he worried about you all the time…"

"He didn't want you talking to me, did he?"

"He couldn't've meant it, just a mistake." Dean cleared his throat.

"I swear to God, he blocked my number. Maybe you heard me say that? I had to use a friend's phone to text the coordinates to him - the coordinates, your name, and 911. I called you back a couple of times that day and left you a message, but you never called me."

"You left messages for me? I didn't know. He found me though, he came and brought me here. And then we, um, talked." Dean's face shut down and his eyes shuttered. "Dunno why I thought he'd come back." He cut his eyes toward the door, "He didn't come. He talked to the doctor. He'd already left town." He rubbed his eyes again.

"How could you not know I'd left messages? And why did he leave?"

"Last I heard you didn't actually go to law school, Sam. I don't want to be cross-examined, and it doesn't matter. I'm grown up - I can handle the hospital on my own. I did then and I did this week so far."

Sam snorted. "What bit you? In Cocoa Beach – what gave you that scar on your back?"

"Some kind of cat, Dad said. Panther something."

"A U-pan? An underwater panther?"

"I don't know, OK, it could be something freaky like that. I don't remember very much. It had these feathers and horns. They were pumping me full of fluids and shit and I was so out of it. Dad was there – he told them it was a dog."

"Did Dad tell you it was a left over from his hunt with Caleb? That they missed something that almost killed you?" He was so angry at his father right now he could barely see straight. "Then he left you at the hospital. Why didn't you tell me?"

Dean glared at him. "It's not the kind of thing that comes up in conversation, Sam, at least not in my conversations. And besides, how could you know any of that - you weren't there. And why is this a big deal to you now?"

"Caleb told me when he called. About that and the Skunk Apes."

"He should have kept his mouth shut. So you talked to Jill and Caleb. So you know everything. Why ask me?"

"I needed someone to tell me what happened. But they don't know everything. Why did Dad leave you at the hospital?"

"He left to hunt it, he left to kill it. And I didn't want him to. It didn't kill me, it left when it realized it had made a mistake." Dean looked toward the windows. "You would have loved it, Sam. It was beautiful." He looked back at Sam. "Dad was really angry."

"So you did know."

"He told me – it wasn't a secret. Dad and Caleb thought they'd killed its mate or something. But I don't think they killed anything – I think they just pissed it off. You can't kill something like that. It would be like killing the Mississippi or something. Too big." He grimaced and rubbed his face with both hands. "Could we not talk about this anymore? Do you finally get it about this state?"

Sam blurted out, "I thought he left you there because of me. Because I called you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you really that egotistical? You think this was about you?"

"When you didn't call back, all I could figure is that Dad ordered you not to talk to me, and you gave in. You gave in like you always did, like you do, you followed orders."

"He never ordered me not to call you. He's not a monster." He started to rub his temples. "And I'm not a mindless robot. Do you think you could find that nurse again?"

Sam realized he was looking pale. He pushed the call button. "How bad is it?"

"Fine if I don't blink."

When the nurse came in she took one look at Dean's face, looked at Sam and nodded and left. Sam waited for her, and was glad she was back almost immediately. This time she injected something into his IV. Sam waited a few minutes, until he was sure Dean was almost asleep.

"Dean, hey Dean."

He opened his eyes half way. "Sm, Samm ... yeah, right here."

"What happened to the messages I left for you?"

"Guess Dad erased 'em."

"Did he order you not to call me?"

"It was the whole don't ask, don't..." He licked his lips and tried to open his eyes wider. "I would've called you even with the Taj Mahal." He yawned. "He said let go. Not an order or nothing. Was better for you. And for him. And he was right. I wasn't thinking." He smiled at Sam. "And he took the block off didn't he?" He yawned again and blinked slowly.

"Was it better for you?" Dean's eyes drifted shut. "What did you say about the Taj Mahal?"

Dean pulled his eyes open. "Didn't have to do it." His eyes were slipping closed, and his words were slurring. "Too warm. Panama Canal in um … Tuscaloosa. Really tired, Sam. Really sorry about Jess too. Dunno how I forgot."

"Don't worry about that now, Dean. Just go to sleep."

He watched Dean for a few minutes, then paged the nurse again. Something wasn't right. "Is Dr Williams on call? If not, I need to speak to the neurosurgeon on duty." The nurse left, and he put in a call to Jill.

OOOOO

When she arrived, she was towing another doctor in her wake, who she introduced as Dr. Bonham, a resident Neurologist in the hospital. Sam knew Dean would love that. He had just enough time to tell Sam that he was on call for Dr Williams when Jill interrupted. "Sam, tell Craig what you told me."

"I was just concerned that he's still in so much pain. His memory is better, but he still seems confused. And he's asleep or almost asleep all the time. Dr. Williams said he was a lot better but … I don't know."

Jill looked at Craig and pointed at Dean. "Go."

Sam whispered, "Force of nature". Jill cranked her head around and raised an eyebrow in question, but didn't stop. She pushed Craig up to the bed. "Is it post-concussion syndrome or not?"

Craig shook her hand off his arm. "Jill, lay off. I told you it's too early. Intracranial bleeding is more likely to show at this stage. At least let me examine the patient?" He looked up at Sam. "First things first. How long ago did he fall asleep?" The doctor was checking Dean's chart.

He looked at his watch. "About an hour ago. Dr Williams said he didn't show signs of bleeding."

"He may not be, but we'll find out." He approached the bed. "Mr. Winchester, can you open your eyes?" Sam stepped forward and put himself between the doctor and Dean.

"Let me do that." He smiled winningly. "He startles easily." He touched Dean's shoulder. "Dean, wake up for me will you." Dean grumbled and tried to roll over. "Come on, Dean, open your eyes and talk to the doctor." He turned to Craig. "What did the nurse give him? Morphine knocks him right out."

"Since the patient is only barely conscious right now," and Craig almost glared at Jill, "I can't do everything I need to but I'll do what I can including another MRI and CAT scan." He looked at Sam. "You know your brother well?"

Sam nodded again. "I didn't see him while I was in college, but we've been together the last two months."

"Has Dean had a concussion before?"

"Yes, a couple."

Craig was lifting Dean's eyelids and shining a flashlight into his eyes. "Mr. Winchester?" He looked back at Sam. "Fits, seizures, twitches?"

Sam almost looked behind him for someone else in the room. "You mean, Dean? No, nothing like that."

"Migraines? Nausea? Unusual reactions to light?" The doctor moved to the end of the bed.

"No."

"Any physical disability?" He uncovered Dean's feet and ran a pen up the soles.

Sam snorted. "None", as Dean's feet jerked in turn. "There's a twitch. And I think he's awake now. Dean, you with us?"

He raised his head a little but his eyes were still out of focus. "Yeah."

"Plantar reflex." He looked up at Sam. "Delusional, confused, difficulty speaking, memory loss?"

Sam looked at Jill. "Ah, no, a little, no, yes. He was confused about the year, but he's a lot better." He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. Craig wrote quickly in the chart, then pulled out his PDA and walked into the hall.

"So this guy is good?" He whispered to Jill.

"He's a good fill in until my husband gets here."

Craig stalked back into the room. "I've ordered an MRI and CAT scan, but the earliest they want to schedule them is tomorrow morning." Sam and the doctor cut their eyes to Jill. She frowned, tapped her foot, and then opened her mouth. "But, I spoke to Tom and we have techs coming in to do the tests now."

Sam saw Dean's hand move. "Hey, you OK?" Dean mumbled so softly that Sam had to bend down to hear him.

He frowned a little. "Tell them to ... turn it down. Loud."

"Sorry, dude, but its going to get louder in a minute. You're going to have more tests." He stepped over to Craig just as a nurse and an orderly came in with a gurney. "What are you testing for?"

"With multiple concussions, patients can develop a seizure disorder similar to epilepsy. I'm almost ready to rule that out, but I needed to ask. The MRI will let us know if there's renewed bleeding." He looked at Jill who was overseeing Dean's transfer to the gurney. "I'm really glad we could get the tests tonight. Doesn't hurt to be related to the wife of the head of the Neuroscience Department, does it?"

Jill was walking out with Dean and Sam followed her. "You can wait here if you want Sam."

"No way. I'm not letting him out of my sight."


	15. Sure you will, Dad

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Chapters will alternate between pre-season and early Season 1, after Phantom Traveler. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

ooooo January 2004 ooooo

Dad sat next to his bed looking at something in his hands. They'd been in the ER cubicle for a couple of hours, Dad ghosting in and out between phone calls. Once he left for almost an hour, returning with Dean's duffle and made sure Dean saw him tuck the Impala's keys in a pocket. Each time he asked Dean if a doctor had come in. And each time he looked impatient and angry, not just at the doctor, but at him. He was doing his best to figure out what he had screwed up, because it sure looked like Dad was in a hurry to get somewhere other than with him. He remembered his dad told him to keep his eyes open when they got in the truck but he'd passed out because the next thing he remembered was his Dad shouting to the ER staff. Clearing his throat, he said, "Sorry."

John lifted his head. His eyes were dark and Dean was having trouble reading them. "Why are you sorry?"

"Closed my eyes in the truck." He said yawning. "Do better next time." He tried not to blink.

"Son, don't worry. I'm not even sure why you're awake now. I thought all you wanted was a nap." He smiled but his eyes stayed blank. He put a hand on Dean's forehead. "How're you doing?"

"Tired. Fuzzy." He moved his head to the left and saw his left shoulder swathed in bandages. He tried to bring his right arm over to touch it, but pulled on the IV lines. There was an IV in his hand and one in his elbow. He pulled his eyes up and saw a variety of bags. "Can I have some water?" Dad pulled a bottle out of one of his many jacket pockets and helped him lift his head to take a few sips.

"See if this'll stay down." His father sat down and once again stared at something he was holding. Dean could hear beeps.

"You calling someone?"

"No."

"Uh, Dad, do you know what that thing was that bit me?"

"Underwater Panther, a misnomer since they can move on land as easily as water. It's also called a night panther, or a copper cat. Caleb and I tracked and killed one down in Cat Island Swamp while you were in Ocala." He put the cell phone in his pocket, and then rubbed his hands over his face.

"A what panther?"

"Just call it a Copper Cat."

"Do you know why'd it jump on me and then leave? Why would it come all the way to Cocoa Beach?"

"All I can figure is that it was trying to track Caleb and me. But Dean, you should have killed it when you had the chance. I'll have to hunt it down myself now."

He closed his eyes. "Kill it with what Dad? I didn't have time to research anything with it eating through my back." Dad didn't reply. "So this one came all the way from Cat Swamp and when it couldn't find you, it jumped me just for the hell of it? This is some kind of wrong place wrong time thing?" He shook his head. "Did you miss it – or just piss it off?"

Dad scowled and lowered his voice. "Enough of the attitude. We didn't know there was more than one of them, Dean. We didn't know there were any at all until an ecology class student was killed out in the swamp. Maybe this was its mate, I don't know."

"How could there be two of something like that?" His Dad was looking out into the main room. Dean remained silent for a few minutes trying to work out a few things. He opened his eyes and looked over at his father. "Dad, um, do you know if they only live in Florida? I mean, I've been having some really piss poor luck recently, and if this thing could only get me because I'm in this fucking state…" He felt his breath speeding up and consciously tried to slow it down. And tried not to whine. "I never want to come back here, OK, Dad? I'm serious, when I get out of this place, we are so going any direction that gets me away from Florida."

"I don't know if they only live here, maybe they do now, but they used to range all up and down the Mississippi." He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Calm down, Dean, slow down your breathing for me OK? I'm sure the state isn't conspiring against you." He wished Dad would pick him up again and take him out of here, put him in the Impala and just drive like a bat out of hell into Georgia, or Kentucky, or Oklahoma, just away.

"I'm going to tell the doctor you're awake. Can you remember Brian Cole for me?"

"Brian … oh god Dad, not the _Association_?"

John's teeth flashed white as he smiled. "All I have right now for insurance. Your mother loved '_Cherish'_. I've told them that a dog attacked you but they'll want you to describe it for them later. I'll be right back."

He closed his eyes before John had walked past the curtain. He drifted a bit but kept jerking awake, once when he heard someone talking, once to a ringing phone. He groaned and got his right arm up so he could rub the heel of his hand into first one eye, then the other. When he jerked awake again at a cough a cubicle or two over, he figured it would be impossible to make his headache any worse. It felt like his head was going to crack open and if it didn't, his brains would leak out of his nose. At least his shoulder was mostly numb after they'd pumped him full of local anesthetic.

No matter how hard he tried not to, his mind kept returning to the call with Sam. The conversation was disjointed. He got random flashes – Sam pissy, but that was a no brainer. He'd been pissy since he was thirteen. Sam talking about hot chicks in bikinis … and did he really think he was in California at one point? Maybe he _was_ delusional. Maybe he only thought Sam would block his number.

He groaned out loud – he'd found something that made his head hurt worse. He'd told Dad that Sam had called him. Fuck. He'd poked the bear.

OOOOO

He was trying to decide if it was a pit bull or a Rottweiler that bit him, but he loved Rumsfeld too much to make it a Rottie so he settled on a pit bull, a big white one, just when his Dad came back with a guy in a white coat.

"He was thirsty so I gave him a little water."

"That should be all right – he still needs a couple more bags of saline before we can treat the shoulder. The IV is increasing his fluid volumes and once we get him in a room, he can drink as much as he wants until a few hours before surgery." He checked Dean's pulse and felt his forehead just like Dad had.

"Did the water make you feel nauseous?" He shook his head.

John interrupted. "Surgery? How soon can he be released?"

The doctor did his best to ignore him. "Brian, do you mind if I call you Brian?" Dean shrugged with his right shoulder. "I'm Dr. Hanson, an ER attending. We're going to have to do some reconstruction on your shoulder and keep you for a few days before you can get back on your feet. I think with some physical therapy, you'll be good as new in a few weeks." He checked the paperwork, before looking up at Dean. "Your Dad says that you're allergic to penicillin?"

"Yeah, I've been taking", he screwed up his eyes, "Clindo something. I should remember, I have a prescription for it in my bag."

"Clindamycin?" Dean nodded. "For these cuts here?" pointing toward his chest. He called a nurse who checked his heart rate, BP, and temperature while the doctor inspected his chest and tested the reflexes in his left hand.

If they were going to check him in, they would find out about his leg sooner or later. "And my leg, uh, left calf. Those are mostly better now." The doctor touched his leg and he couldn't help but hiss a little. He looked at his Dad. "Is it still Thursday?" Crap, that made Dad look almost panicked and the doctor concerned. "It's just that I haven't taken a pill since Thursday morning, and I'm not sure how long that's been. I promised I wouldn't miss a dose."

"We've got you on Clindamycin now through your IV. When did you get those cuts?" The doctor checked the nurse's results and after a brief conversation, she left and returned with a syringe the doctor injected into his IV.

John said, "What did you just give him?"

"A mild sedative and analgesic. His heartbeat and respirations are climbing, and," looking back at Dean, "we need to keep you nice and calm. Brian, how long ago did you get these stitches"

"'Bout a week. "

"Was that a dog too?"

He rubbed his temples, trailing IV lines. The lights in the room were starting to smear. He closed his eyes.

"How's your headache?"

He hadn't even told him about the headache. "OK I guess." He opened his eyes to see a look of incredulity on the doctor's face. "Actually, not so good, but", his caught his Dad's expression, "couple of aspirin, and I'll be fine. When can I leave?"

"We'll take you into surgery tomorrow. From there, you'll go into recovery, and then back to your room. Until then, we are going to provide pain management, fluids, antibiotics, and rest." The doctor looked at Dad, this time, "Your son will be able to check out in four days, maybe three days if things go well but I would think he'll need outpatient physical therapy for at least a couple of weeks. We'll know better after the surgery."

He lost track of the conversation at that point, the thought of weeks of down time … He opened his eyes when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Dad?" The doctor was gone.

"Sorry, kiddo, I can't wait four weeks let alone four days. I'll make sure you are going to be OK but I have to go. You can catch up to us later."

He tried to get up on his right elbow but the movement made his head spin. "Go? Why can't you wait? You could base out of here, couldn't you? I can still research for you…" His Dad shook his head. "You're going to leave me here? Help me up, we'll go now." He tried again to get up.

"No Dean, you'll stay here and recover. That bite has to be treated. I promise I'll make sure you're OK before I leave." He picked his jacket up off the chair, and looked out of the cubicle. "Caleb and I brought the Impala here. She's parked in the lot – you'll find her."

"Is this because I was talking to Sam?" Whatever was in that sedative sure lowered his self preservation reflex. "Come on Dad, you know we talk once in a while. Every couple a months is all." He licked his lips, wishing desperately for more water. "And I won't even be doing that anymore." He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and fought them back. "He's not gonna talk to me anymore anyway, I think he blocked my number. That's what you wanted all along, isn't it?"

John finally looked at him. "I'm sure Sam didn't block your number. But, yeah, I never wanted you calling him. You have got to let him go, Dean. He doesn't want our life. Each time you call, you're bringing him back to it. Respect his decision and stop calling him. Promise me you won't call him again."

"Let him go? You've been telling me since I was four to watch out for him, to take care of him."

"And look what a great job you did – you took care of him so well, he left me – left us!"

A nurse came in and told John to lower his voice or she'd ask him to leave. "I'll be quieter. And I'll be leaving in just a few minutes."

"Are you going to order me not to talk to him?"

"I will if I have to. Do I have to?"

Dean looked down, angling his head away from his father. "No, sir." John took a step to leave. Dean blurted out. "Are you leaving me here because I talked to Sam?" John shook his head. "This was your leftover mess that showed up to bite me, Dad, literally. So unless this is about Sam, wait until I get better and I can come with you." That swung his father around sharply and he took a few steps toward the bed.

"This isn't about Sam. It's about you. You've been talking to him when you knew how much his leaving … you knew I didn't approve. I waited for you to stop on your own, but you didn't. I checked your call history", he set Dean's cell phone on his bag, "and you've called him over and over."

"No, dad, just once a month maybe. And he never picked up…"

"Wasn't that a clue? And you're usually so good with puzzles. Not smart enough to figure this one out?"

Dean felt like he'd been hit – he'd rather have been hit. "Dad. Dad, stop it."

"Stop what? You let a two hundred pound beast from hell get the drop on you, Dean, _literally_," he mimicked, "and now you're out of commission for weeks when I need backup. And you let it get away, you didn't even take a shot, and now it can hurt someone else." John took a deep breath, and lowered his voice. "You think what happened to you is bad luck? No, it's you distracted and careless, trying to have 'fun' instead of working the job. _That's_ why I'm leaving."

"Would it have made a difference if I'd shot it?"

John's lips thinned but he didn't answer. "You have the car, your bag, and", he hesitated a moment, "here" handing Dean a roll of bills. "You'll need more before your PT is done, but I'm sure you'll figure something out. "I'm going to go after that cat. Call when you are able to hunt again. I'll start you on a new training regime to help that shoulder." He walked to the curtains and turned. "I'll call to check up in a week or two."

He was gone and probably couldn't hear him when he said, "Sure you will, Dad." This time, when he felt tears in his eyes, he didn't even try to stop them, relieved in a way now that Dad wasn't there to see him. How had he screwed up so badly in just a few days?

Dad asked who he had been talking to, and he'd told. And the bear eviscerated him. Just like always.

OOOOO

A/N: There are two chapters to go. I'll post them this week on Thursday and Friday.

_Shameless Pimping Section – jealous of Merisha owning this story? You too could be the proud owner of your very own shiny new short story based on your prompt! _

_K Hanna Korossy is running a Supernatural fanfic auction for the next two weeks (June 28 - July 12, 2008) benefiting a fellow writer, publisher, and friend who is in need of a wheelchair. Twenty-two writers (and one vidder!) including the brilliant Ms Korossy have offered their talents and time to this endeavor, and every penny goes to the fund. The auction can be found at www (dot) thefreeauction (dot) com, under Miscellaneous-General, and registering to bid is fast and free. Donations are also gratefully accepted. For questions or to make a donation, please K Hanna Korossy. We all hope you'll come check it out and not only have some fun bidding on some great writers, but also help raise money for a good cause! _


	16. He’s three times as big as me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

Dean woke to Sam calling his name. It felt like he'd been asleep half of his friggin' life by now. He cracked an eye open and met Sam's eyes. "Is it morning?" He yawned.

"Yeah, it's about 10. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Head's pretty good actually."

"Three questions: today's date, today's date, and let me see, today's date."

"It's Thursday, December… you said it yesterday, but if it's Thursday" Sam nodded, "then it would be December ... 29th, right?"

"Right. Do you remember getting here and…"

"Yeah, pretty sure it's mostly back, just need to get it all in order. Missed Christmas with you." He thought for a few minutes and scrubbed his face. "Where were we again?"

"Ormond Beach, north of here. My friend Jeremy asked us to spend Christmas with him. Jenny was there, and Kit, and a few others you met at … the funeral."

He rubbed his eyes. "Ah hell, Sam. Jess' funeral. Shit. So, big house. Jenny's hot?"

"Yeah, for you."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Man, I'm good. Can't remember them, but I can still line them up. Um", he made a circling gesture with his hands. "Why do I remember some kind of no-fly zone?"

"Because I was an ass. Don't worry about it. Remember playing pool with Kit?"

"Beat him. I did beat him?" He checked Sam's face. "No way. I couldn't have lost to a college buddy of yours."

Sam huffed at Dean's obvious scorn. "You did. He challenged you to a kite flying contest. Remember that?"

"I got you those flip flops… oh shit. Something about Armenians and …" he stared at Sam. "You were an ass for real, man. What was that about the credit card?"

"The only thing you need to remember from that is how sorry I am that we argued."

"Pretty sure you weren't arguing with the dashboard. I must have said something to help it along huh?" He looked up at Sam. "I don't know what I was thinking leaving you there. I was going to come back in a couple of hours."

"Don't worry about it. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Later or never on that part." He shook his head, slowly. "Physics, kites, matches … did you take on Kit?"

"Winchester honor, man, had to be done. I showed no mercy."

"And I bet he thought the wind treated you better and wants a rematch."

"With you naturally. I never knew he was such a prick."

"What am I going to do from here – rock-paper-scissors?" He almost laughed when Sam blurted out,

"No, not that. You never win at that."

He smiled at Sam. "I beat everyone but you at that, you know. I could take him at poker." He yawned. "Man this is getting old. I need to get moving."

They both heard the knock at the door. Sam looked up. "Dr. Williams is here with Tom, Jill's husband."

He rolled his head, relieved to only feel a twinge of pain. He squinted. "Dude, my car is still not for sale."

"How did you know I was going to ask?" Tom McDevitt stepped forward. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law, right?" He shook Dean's hand. "The good news is you're still going to live."

Dean looked back at Sam. "Who said I wasn't?"

Sam opened his mouth, but Tom interrupted him. "Sam did the right thing last night. Do you remember having the MRI and CAT scan last night?"

"I think so. What did Sam do?"

"Reported his concerns about your injury. We did the tests to make sure you hadn't developed a new bleed. It's standard procedure – Dr Williams' assures me that she would have ordered the tests today if you didn't show significant improvement, but Jill", he shrugged his shoulders, "Jill gets what she wants pretty much when she wants it." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Always gets what she wants when she wants it actually." He smiled at Sam. "And we are here to make sure she gets what she wants and that's you, Dean, better and out of here in time for New Year's Eve."

"I'm not going to argue with her. I don't win either." Dean looked ruefully at Tom. "It's twenty-four seven for you – that's got to be rough. But I know what it's like. Been there, doing that with this one," waving at his brother, "never pays to argue with him either."

Sam sputtered but Tom laughed. Sam noticed Dean rubbing his eyes. "You OK?" He looked at Tom. "How were the tests?"

"Everything seems to be in place, however unlikely. Nothing bad or unusual. Are you feeling more with us today, Dean?"

"Yeah, actually, much better. Just a headache at this point."

"Dr Williams will get you some Tylenol for that. I've got to go, but Jill will be in later." He waved as he went out the door with Williams, who good to Tom's word, came back in with some tablets for Dean.

"I'd like to do some cognitive tests this morning and see about getting you on your feet."

He yawned and stretched as much as his back would let him. "I'll answer any question you like, but only if I can have a cup of coffee."

She allowed a small cup of decaf. Dean mouth twisted in disgust pulling a laugh out of his brother. Sam hesitated before leaving, "You'll be alright, Dean?"

"Not if I don't get coffee. But yeah, I'll be fine." He caught Sam's eyes and pointed his chin toward the door. "Go so you can come back that much sooner." Sam smiled a little and left. He looked back at the doctor. "Sam told me you were worried about me, well about my mental state, earlier this week."

"I set up a psych consult for you. I'm sure the events were traumatic enough that some time to decompress will help you." She nodded as if it was a done deal.

What was with this woman? "Let's remember that I haven't agreed to a consult. My memory's pretty good." He leaned back into the pillows. "But, if you send a shrink, I'll just ask Sam to put him out. And Sam is big enough to put anyone anywhere."

She said, "Perhaps I could talk to your father before we make a decision…"

"There's no 'we' here, doctor. And Dad – he's not as tall as Sam, but he's burly, you know, shoulders out to here," he held his arms out like he was talking about a championship fish. "He can put Sam out of the room. I'm pretty sure you don't want him here at all." He grinned at her, mostly teeth. "I'm the pussycat of the family, really."

She looked at him appraisingly. "Speaking of cats, what about the one outside the motel?"

"Motel? I was bitten by a cougar a few years ago, but that was at my Dad's friend's place."

"When I first spoke to you that's all you could talk about. Do you remember that?"

"Those first couple of hours are kind of", he gestured, "hard to remember. Jill said that a little scramble was normal though. I don't remember being hit at all. I think one of the cops was named Steve. And I remember looking at my phone. That's about it."

"I'm glad that you are feeling so well today. You should be very grateful to your brother for coming. Your improvement since he arrived really is amazing." She was conducting a physical exam, checking his leg, reflexes, and pupils, when Sam slouched back in with an enormous coffee for himself, and a thimble sized cup for him.

"I saw Jill downstairs – she'll be up in a minute." He looked at the doctor. "So how's my brother holding up? We'd like to get out of here tomorrow, Saturday at the latest. We've got plans for New Years Eve."

Dr. Williams looked at Dean. "We'll assess your pain level in the morning. Your leg and hip still need time to recover even if your head is better. If you can walk up and down the hallway for five minutes, I'll sign you out tomorrow. If not, Saturday. You'll be in time for your New Year's Eve party." She made a few notations on his chart and then looked Dean squarely in the eye. "I'm really glad you're back with us, Dean."

As she walked out, Sam looked a little bewildered. "Huh. Looks like she thinks you're sane. So what did you talk about?"

"She asked me out, but I had to turn her down."

Sam barked out a laugh. "Like I believe that."

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm sexiest lying down. Put me in a hospital bed? She couldn't resist. She wants me, Sammy."

Sam sat on the chair, pulled the laptop over and tossed the TV remote to Dean. "It's Sam. Without the BS, how are you feeling?"

"Better." Sam just stared at him. "I have a headache, but I can move my head." He demonstrated, but stopped quickly. "I can move my head a little bit. Leg and back are fine. We could ease on out of here anytime. And what's this about plans?"

"Jill will tell you. See if you can walk to the bathroom and back."

"Piece of cake." He hadn't really thought about the IV or the catheter, since standing up was hard enough what with his head not wanting to come along for the ride at the beginning. Once the room stopped tilting, he was able to take four steps before he reached the length of the combined tubing. Sam, still seated, watched this with a jaundiced eye, but offered to bring him the IV pole and the Foley collection bag if he wanted to walk further, but Dean would have to wait while he'd amassed enough paper towels to protect his hand from actually touching the bag. He waved him off. He was sweating, his hip was aching, and his legs were shaky enough that all he wanted to do was turn around and get back in bed. He wanted to tell Sam what a freaking girl he was too but as he turned, the rotation spiked pain through his head. He reached out blindly for something to hold onto, and finding Sam's arm, dragged himself back to bed.

"Dean, you're white as a sheet. Let's give this another day. It's on the house, and I'll smuggle in food to keep you from starving." Dean didn't want to move his head, so he groped his hand over to the bedside table until he found the empty coffee thimble and waved it emphatically in Sam's direction. "Sorry, Dean, but coffee is a vasoconstrictor. It might be making your head worse."

"Painkillers."

"In order for you to have coffee? I don't think so. Tell you what, let's not ask.."

Dean supplied, "Weirdy McWilliamson."

"That doctor, but we'll ask Jill when she gets here. Sound reasonable?"

"Why are you always so reasonable about coffee?" He had to close his eyes again.

He felt Sam moving around the bed, and opened his eyes in time to accept another dose of Tylenol from a nurse. "You get painkillers for pain, not to drink coffee."

"Enough with the pills. I'm fine." He covered his eyes and tried not to whine. "All I want to do is take a nap. Guess the twenty hours I just got wasn't enough."

A few hours later, Jill knocked on the door and peeked around the curtain at Dean. "Is it OK if we come in?" Without waiting for an answer, she walked in towing Adam behind her. She pushed him forward toward Dean as Sam stood up.

"Kid, how are you? You've gone up two feet since I saw you." They shook hands in a very grown up manner. Dean rubbed his nose. "Meet my brother Sam."

Adam looked up at Sam eyes wide, then turned to his mother, and said "He doesn't look like me." He looked at Dean, "You thought I looked like him? You had to be _really_ out of it. He's three times as big as me!"

Dean had to laugh. "Give me some credit, dude, he used to be a _lot_ shorter." He glanced at Sam, "Sam, meet Adam. Adam, Sam."

Sam smiled and put out his hand. "You could do worse than look like me when you grow up, you know. You could end up looking like my brother." Adam scoffed and rolled his eyes. When Dean sneezed, he looked back at his mother.

Jill said, "Dean, you OK?"

"Yeah, don't know why I'm sneezing."

Jill frowned a little, then gathered up Adam, and headed toward the door. She said, "We just came in to invite you properly to our house for New Year's Eve. Come anytime." Before they could leave, Adam said, "Wait, Mom" and walked back to Dean's bed. He held up his arm and pointed at a bracelet on his wrist.

"I wanted you to see what I made." He held his arm out, and Dean brought his wrist closer. It looked … oh crap, he knew exactly what it looked like. "See, it looks like the one you wear. That's some of the string you used in the cave, and the rest is fur. I braided into strands. I wear it every day."

Sam stepped forward to take a look as Dean dropped his arm, and sneezed again. "It's great, Adam, but could you put it in your pocket?"

Jill looked at Adam and then Sam. "Sam, go ahead and take Adam out in the hall. He'll tell you about it." As they left, she buzzed the nurse, and asked her to page Dr. Williams. "How bad is it?"

He waved, "Not too bad", and he might have pulled it off, if he didn't sneeze another three times. He rubbed his eyes, "I can't believe this – it came on so fast."

"That's what usually happens when you've been overexposed." She paced toward the door, and called Adam back. "Honey, you know where my office is?" Adam looked worried, but he nodded. "Get Jean at the desk to walk you there, OK, and don't worry, Dean will be fine." He darted out as Sam strolled back in.

"Dean, what the heck. Why are you sneezing?"

"Allergic to freaking skunk apes." He reached toward the bedside table. Sam stepped forward to hand him the little box of hospital tissues before he sat down. "I'm allergic to Florida."

Dr. Williams came in and conferred briefly with Jill. "I'll prescribe you an antihistamine right now."

"As long as I live long enough for it to take effect." His eyes were streaming. He cursed between sneezes, "Crap. Damn. Fuck."

Jill burst out laughing. "I'll make sure you live, Dean. I don't want to have to use an epi-pen on you again."

He looked up. "You did?" He sneezed a few more times. "Oh, before the helicopter. Never could figure out what hit me. Or why you told me you would shoot me right in front of Sam."

Sam had been looking at the laptop, but that made his head jerk up so quickly he almost fell out of the chair. "What did you just say?"

Jill wasn't laughing, just looking at Dean fondly. "You wouldn't breathe, Dean, and I wasn't going to let you die. We were doing CPR and you weren't responding. I did what I had to to get your stubborn ass to take a breath."

Sam's mouth was still open. Dean explained, "I was a little", Jill snorted, "OK, mostly out of it. I kept thinking Adam was you." He stopped as a nurse came in and gave him a pill which he gratefully swallowed. "So how fast does this work?"

"You should feel it in a few minutes." She looked at Sam, "So I deliberately threatened to make his eight year old brother watch me kill him in cold blood if he didn't take a breath."

"And boy did it work. You play dirty, though." He sneezed and rubbed his eyes. "Do you even know how to take the safety off a pistol?" Jill shook her head. "I didn't think so."

"I never had a chance to tell you, but I think I figured out why your leg was so much worse than your chest. It would also help explain the almost fatally intense allergic reaction." She looked at Dean and he gestured at her to continue. "One ape got your leg, and the second one got your chest, right? But we only found the severe infection on your leg. So either the cuts were different or the apes had to be. If it was a pair, male and female, my husband and I have a theory that the first ape, probably the female, had a way to inject an irritant into your body with its claws, kind of like super bee venom, and that was what precipitated the allergic crisis." She looked rather pleased with herself and rocked from her heels to her toes glancing at them. Her smile dropped. "Did you follow any of that?"

"Huh. Like being stung by a seven foot smelly fur covered bee. I guess that means I'll know what to do next time, but honestly Jill, I never plan to come to Florida again."

"Just keep your eyes and nose open. You may be allergic to more things now that this has sort of opened the flood gates. Don't forget to remind me to give you a new scrip for epi-pens before you leave." She looked at Sam. "Do you want me to bring the car here? My husband would love to drive it again."

Dean stared in horror. "No one drives my car." He cut his eyes to his brother, "I don't even trust him. We'll take a cab."

"Dean, I'm sure there aren't any haunted houses between Jill's and the hospital, and…" he cut off Dean's protest, "even if there were, I promise I won't drive through the front door." He looked at Jill. "Long story, kinda funny, but long. Could you drive me to your house to pick it up?"

"Her, you heathens, her. She's not an 'it'. And find out if I can have coffee!"

OOOOO

_Shameless Pimping Reminder #1 – K Hanna Korossy is running a Supernatural fanfic auction for the next two weeks (June 28 - July 12, 2008) benefiting a fellow writer, publisher, and friend who is in need of a wheelchair. Twenty-two writers (and one vidder!) including the multi-talented Ms Korossy have offered their talents and time to this endeavor, and every penny goes to the fund. The auction can be found at www (dot) thefreeauction (dot) com, under Miscellaneous-General, and registering to bid is fast and free. Donations are also gratefully accepted. For questions or to make a donation, please contact K Hanna Korossy. We all hope you'll come check it out and not only have some fun bidding on some great writers, but also help us raise money for a good cause!_


	17. In bed, Sam, a hospital bed

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: This final chapter does not alternate back to pre-Series. My thanks as always to my beta's: Merisha and Scotia. This story is infinitely better because of them. All remaining errors are entirely my own. The story belongs to Merisha.

A/N 2: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! To those of you who alerted and made the story (or me!) a favorite, thank you, it's very flattering. For those of you who did that and didn't review, come on and tell me what you liked best.

ooooo December 2005 ooooo

It was only about 10 o'clock when Sam got back to the room, Dean had fallen asleep and to Sam's relief the IV lines and Foley catheter had been removed while he was collecting the car. The IV stand was still in the room, and the IV port was still taped to the back of Dean's hand, but everything else was gone. Sam called Jeremy to work out the return of his family's car and was grateful when Jeremy offered to pick up the car at the hospital. He had really hoped to see him before they left Florida, and somehow he didn't think his brother would be willing to drive back to Ormond Beach. When Jeremy and Jenny came to the room a few hours later and knocked, Sam walked to the door to greet them. Jeremy gave Sam a hefty care package. He raised his eyebrows, looking in the bag. "What's in here?"

"Cuban sandwiches, plantains, key lime pie, fresh fruit, meatloaf sandwiches, coleslaw … " He shook his head sadly, "Our cook went into overdrive when she heard Dean was in the hospital, and," poking Sam on the shoulder, "she thinks you're too thin. She emptied our pantry." He looked toward the door. "Can we see Dean?"

"Let's walk down and get coffee first. He's asleep, actually he's been sleeping a lot, but the doctor said it's the best thing for him. She gave me the green light on a cup of coffee for Dean earlier." He set the bag inside the room and walked them to the cafeteria. Jeremy told him that most of the group had decided to make this a road trip and brought several cars. They were going to visit the Space Center and then drive slowly back up the coast and get in a little sightseeing. The others had gone on to Cape Canaveral after dropping him and Jenny at the hospital but would be back to pick them up in an hour or so.

When they got back to the room, Sam said, "Let me wake him up before you come in." He stepped back into the room, closing the door most of the way, then came around the curtain. He really was glad he asked Jill about coffee on the drive to her house, but what he should have done was ask her if Dean had managed to contract some kind of sleeping sickness. He knew without question that if there could possibly be a single tsetse fly in Florida it wouldn't rest until it found and infected his brother.

He took the lid off the coffee and waved it under Dean's nose, then stood back. "Hey, dude, you have visitors."

Dean opened his eyes gradually, then took a deep breath. "Coffee?"

Sam brought the back of the bed up until Dean was sitting almost upright, then handed him the cup. "Jill said you could have a cup of the real stuff." Dean took a huge gulp, looking blissful. He turned puzzled eyes to Sam. "You said I had visitors?"

"Yeah, Jeremy and Jenny came. They're picking up his car and they brought us an enormous care package. You ready?" He watched Dean run his hand through his spiky hair. "Want a comb?"

"Oh right, like _you_ own one. Besides, it looks better messy." He scrubbed his hair with all ten fingers to prove it. "Kind of wished I could brush my teeth though." He ran his tongue over his teeth, then looked at him worriedly. "Are you going to be OK with me and Jenny talking?"

"Of course I am…" but before he could start an apology to his brother, Dean interrupted him.

"Because, I am in bed", spreading his hands out, "_in bed_, Sam, a _hospital_ bed, wounded…"

"Unshaven, unwashed, bad breath …"

"I was going to say manly and irresistible." He rubbed his stubble, then looked at Sam again and waggled his brows. "I'm just saying that she might jump my bones the instant she sees me."

"We'll pray that won't be the case." Grinning he walked to the door to invite their guests in. She didn't jump his bones, at least not while he and Jeremy were in the room. After a few minutes, he gave them some time alone by walking downstairs with Jeremy. They talked until the rest of his friends swung by. Jenny joined them in a few minutes, and once Jeremy had brought his car up from the hospital lot they left. He waved until the last car disappeared.

When he got to the room, Dean was upright and walking slowly toward the bathroom, rolling the IV stand with him. He was leaning on it, and taking small steps, but he waved off Sam who darted forward to take an elbow. He made it into the bathroom, and after several long minutes, re-emerged and shuffled back to the bed. He looked pale but otherwise OK to Sam.

"That was wonderful."

"How's your head?"

"Fine. Really. It hurts but nothing a couple of aspirin won't fix at this point."

They eventually stayed through Saturday morning, not so much because Dean couldn't walk for five minutes on Friday, he did, just not as well as the doctor wanted him to. It was a free bed, free food, free wi-fi, and the safest place Sam could think of to guard Dean until they left Florida. He hadn't left at night since he'd arrived on Wednesday, even though he knew he had a bed at Jill's house, just in case some damned spirit or chupacabra was drawn irresistibly to his brother. Jill had pulled some strings and had a cot placed in the room for him.

After check out, Sam drove them very carefully to Jill's house in Cocoa Beach. Jill apologised profusely for forgetting Adam's bracelet and reassured them that Adam was under orders to leave anything with ape fur in the garage, vacuum the house, and keep his room's door closed, but she still pressed an antihistamine on Dean as soon as they arrived. It was just them and the McDevitt's – not loud, more food than drink, comfortable and to Sam, homey. The McDevitt's were interested in their 'full time jobs' but they carefully limited what they would talk about to animals and shapeshifters, deliberately going for the humor and not the kill. Dean told a story about their father and a flock of possessed geese that had Sam laughing so hard he started to cry. Sam gave their one exception to the animal rule that evening and described driving the car into the house in Jericho, and he finally found out what had happened in that cave in Ocala.

Dean and Adam retired to the family room for a private 'man to man' discussion, where Sam found them a few hours later, Dean snoring on a recliner, and Adam on the floor in front of the TV. He wasn't sure who had fallen asleep first. Adam's dad carried the boy to bed, and Sam coaxed and prodded Dean into the guest room.

To Sam's surprise, they ended up staying until Monday because, as he said, Dean was positive that not even Florida could outmojo Jill. Before they left, Jill helped restock their first aid kit, and wrote the promised prescription for epi-pens, as well as for good sized bottles of Vicodin and a broad band antibiotic. An hour after breakfast, Dean was practically pulling Sam to the car he was so anxious to leave. Their goodbyes were brief, but the sincere affection the family had for his brother was obvious. Dean got behind the wheel and headed for Route 1.

"We should make good time out of here. We'll make Waycross in four, four and a half hours tops if we don't stop." He glanced at Sam. "And I'm not stopping for anything. Not for food, not for bikinis, not for a shuttle launch, wildlife, or for you, Mr. Tiny McBladder, to take a piss. Unless a fucking Florida thunderbird picks up the car and carries us off, we'll have our next meal in Georgia."

They were about three hours into the drive, joking and carefully not talking about anything important, when Sam decided it was time to talk about Dad. They still hadn't heard anything and now that Dean was OK, he had the opportunity to concentrate one hundred percent on being pissed off all over again that Dad wasn't talking to them. He took a deep breath and looked at Dean.

"I'm fine Sam, still awake."

"Uh, good, but I want to talk about what you said in the hospital."

"About being sexier in bed? About time you asked me for advice. I can give you…"

"No, Dean, what you said about letting me go."

"Old shit, old Florida shit. We need to drop this and move on. Did you find us a hunt?"

"_I_ need to talk to you about this. I need to know what you meant. How could Dad be right about us not talking?"

Dean rubbed his face. "You serious about this?" He cut his eyes over. Sam was prepared – he was wearing his 'determined' face, or at least that's what Dad always called it. Dean called it his god damn pouty face. He sighed. "You and Dad, Sam, you and Dad are the stubbornest people in the world. OK, look, we'll do this once and then we won't talk about it again. And we'll do it while we are still in this fucking state, and then we'll leave all of this crap behind us and never come back. Deal?"

"Deal. Tell me about letting me go."

He didn't respond at first, clearly planning what he would say. "You remember the call when I called you a Skunk Ape now, right? I was in the hospital, high as a kite on morphine." Sam made a noise, "Yeah, I know, you thought I was drunk. Still I screwed up and you were pissed. So you called back to ream me out. Do you know how long it had been since you last called?"

"No."

"Over two months, almost three." He pulled up at a light. "I didn't mind Sam, you were busy, and I got that. But I was calling you maybe two or three times a month for two years – and no matter when I called, you _never_ picked up, not once, until I called from the hospital phone and you didn't recognize the number. I'm glad I made that call now – if you hadn't have been so pissed off, I probably would have died right there in my car. You saved my life that night in Canaveral, and I'll never forget that."

Sam felt a renewed wash of guilt remembering all the times Dean had called and he had watched as the call rolled over to voice mail. He just couldn't answer it, whether it was fear of being sucked back into the life, or anger at his Dad and Dean, he didn't know. It seemed easier not to have to deal with whatever Dean had to say in real time. And there wasn't one thing he could say to Dean that wouldn't be some kind of excuse or rationalization so he kept his mouth shut.

"Dad was, um, angry that I was still calling you, and to top it off I was going to be out of commission for at least a month, so he left… anyway the point is that Dad and I talked when we finally hooked up again. Calling you was just pulling you back into the life. And trying to pretend that by not talking about hunting it would change anything ... what a crock." He trailed off as he merged onto 95 North off of the Jacksonville beltway. "Dad was right, just like that teacher was right. If you wanted Stanford, if you wanted normal, you needed a clean break. You needed both of us out of your life, not just Dad. You knew that when you left. Dad knew that and it made him crazy that I didn't get it fast enough."

"How long were you out of commission? How long before you saw Dad again."

"Had to be six weeks. He tracked me down at Bobby's." He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. "That's when Dad and Bobby, they, argued. Bobby threatened Dad with a shotgun. I don't think they've talked since."

"They were always arguing. What made this … were they fighting about you?"

"Hell, no, they were both out of line. Like two grizzlies fighting over a prime fishing spot." He thought about that a second, "and before you say something, no, I wasn't the fishing spot or anything like that." He laughed a little and shook his head. "Might have been one of the fish. Dad and I left, and my shoulder got better, you know, working out."

"The Panama Canal?"

Dean looked kind of sheepish. "Oh, I said that? It wasn't much, just a scale version. And he let me use a hubcap." He looked at Sam again. "OK, we done?" Sam nodded. "That's the Florida talk. We aren't going to talk about this again whether it's your 'determined' face or not. And if you ever bring this up again, if you mention it, if you want to get all emo about it, I'll kick your skinny ass right back to Florida and leave you."

Sam was quiet for a few minutes. No matter how much he denied it, fought it, screamed and yelled about it, his Dad was right. Maybe. He'd have to think about it. But he'd been relieved that Dean hadn't called back, God forgive him, relieved.

He took a deep breath. "Dean, you said not calling me anymore was better for me, and better for Dad. Was it better … was it better for you not to call me anymore?"

He was met with a stony silence. He risked a glance over, and saw Dean's hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. Dean finally turned his head minutely toward Sam, eyes still wary but a slight smile on his face. "You are aware that we are still in Florida, right? I could pull over right now and put you out on the side of the road and leave your ass here."

He huffed out a laugh, and stretched his back a little bit, releasing a build up of tension in his back and shoulders he wasn't even aware he'd had. He'd eventually come to his own conclusion on that question. He smiled, and followed his brother's lead. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, I would."

"A chupacabra could bite me."

"Welcome to my world."

"A Skunk Ape could run off with me."

Dean fished in his shirt pocket and handed Sam an antihistamine. "Enjoy the love fest."

"A tsetse fly could give me sleeping sickness. I could be caught in freak orange juice factory explosion…"

"A what? A fucking tsetse fly? And now you're scared of orange juice? Suck it up, pansy."

"Besides, you couldn't put me out on the side of the road. You only got out the hospital a few days ago. And I'm taller than you, and stronger, and I know how to fight back." He crossed his arms and nodded. "And you can't stop since we're still in Florida." He grinned.

Dean pointed at the 'Welcome to Georgia" sign as they passed it. "You know what this means, you skinny freak?" Not waiting for an answer, he pulled into the parking lot of the Georgia Welcome Center. He looked at Sam with what could only be gleeful anticipation. "Stronger than me? You think you're stronger than _me_? And that a little concussion will slow me down? Do you really want to find out if I can't force you out of this car, bitch?" He opened the door and stepped out.

OOOOO

My next story, OBX, should start posting in the next few weeks.

_Shameless Reminder #2 – if you have not already, I hope you'll check out the fanfic auction K Hanna Korossy is running June 28 - July 12, 2008, to benefit a fellow writer, publisher, and friend who is in need of a wheelchair. The auction can be found at www (dot) thefreeauction (dot) com, under Miscellaneous-General, and registering to bid is fast and free. Donations are also gratefully accepted. For questions or to make a donation, please contact K Hanna Korossy. _


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